


I See Heaven Inside You

by DisposableVillain



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: America, Coming Out, F/M, Family, Gay Pride, M/M, Multi, Muslim Character, Pride, Religion, Romance, Sexuality, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, coming to terms with sexuality and faith, exclusive polyam relationship, faith - Freeform, polyamorous, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-05-31 10:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15117452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisposableVillain/pseuds/DisposableVillain
Summary: "Hi! Sorry to bother you; I know you probably get asked this a lot, but do you ever struggle with your faith because of your sexuality? – Anon."Malik Ishtar is a Muslim journalism student who works for a freelance newspaper, and he lives in San Francisco. He's also pansexual and that's not okay. Not according to his father, or sister, or friend - they say that Allah will never accept him, but they're wrong and Malik knows it. It's just he doesn't know how to show them that.





	1. Chapter 01 | What

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Happy Pride (Pride is June 30th here)!!!! This fic was meant to be posted ages ago but exams took ages. So here you go! This is mainly self indulgence but I never see any fics about LGBT+ Muslim characters. I wanted to do something about a character coming to terms with their sexuality/gender and faith since Islam is seen as a really LGBT-phobic religion. I'm not Muslim, but I had people check it over and I did research, so hopefully I got things right but if I did something wrong, PLEASE message me or comment and I will fix it. Okay, this is going to get weekly Saturday updates until it's finished. Thanks to sitabethel for looking over it for me! Enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Homophobia, child abuse, murder, light gore

When Malik was little, he used to see prayer as his refuge. He would be at the mosque whenever he got the chance, enamoured by the coloured tiles in intricate patterns and the texts in a delicate, scrawling language he was still learning to read. He was the only legitimate son, so he was taught early while his brother was left to work at home.

By the time he entered school at five, he was reading at the average adult’s level and had combed through the Qur’an several times.

Then his father was made a local imam, and everything changed.

Prayers became a strict chore, the requirement dousing any joy Malik had initially felt when he mumbled the words under his breath. His schooling took a harsher turn as well, with teachers expecting more from him than ever.

Isis began facing tougher rules as well – she left school at fourteen and began working at home, only able to study in what little free time she had after her brothers and father went to bed.

Malik was never quite sure what Rishid did. His father had been civil to his adopted son after his wife’s death, but since he had received his new position, Malik returned home several evenings to find fresh bruises blossoming over his brother’s face.

“What happened?”

A smile always followed the question, no matter how severe the wounds were. “I just fell, Malik; I’m fine.”

It was always the same, no matter how many bruises were there, or where they were. Then it was a cut, and he got careless when cooking, even though it was always Isis who made their meals. Malik never took too much notice. He trusted Rishid.

One day, Malik left school early, sick with a stomach bug. He didn’t remember much of the day. He knew from what Isis told him that he had walked in to see his father beating Rishid with a belt.

Apparently, he had screamed at his father to leave his brother alone, and when Rishid was hit again, he panicked and grabbed the poker from the fireplace.

The spike had pierced his father’s skull and he bled into the floor that Isis had only cleaned that morning.

He couldn’t recall anything but what his father had told him after he screamed.

“He’s not your brother, and according to Allah, he never will be.”

After the funeral, they left Egypt. America had been hard to adapt to, especially the language. Malik was placed a year behind where he should have been to catch up, and Isis went back to school, staying back two years.

Rishid had already grown too old for high school and decided against college until he learned the language well enough. Now, he was in his first year of an online social science course, Malik was about to go into his second year in a journalism course, and Isis had received a degree in law three months prior.

She was due to sit the bar in September.

Both he and Malik had grown somewhat accustomed to American society, but even after thirteen years, Isis struggled.

Prayers were her only salvation, as they once had been for Malik, but she assumed that they were still important to him; without asking, of course.

She dragged him to the mosque whenever she could, but Friday prayer was never a choice for either him or Rishid, no matter what was on or due.

Malik let out a breath as he touched his forehead to the ground, his shoulders tense. Even an act of submission to Allah didn’t sit right in his body. The whole ra’kah didn’t feel right to him.

 _He’s not your brother, and according to Allah, he never will be._ He detested the man and everything that he stood for, and he hated him for warping how he viewed the prayers he once adored.

“As-salāmu ‘alakyum wa rahmatu llāh,” the others in the mosque chanted, turning to their left and right. Peace be upon you, and Allah’s blessing. Malik mimicked their actions and murmured their words under his breath alongside them.

The worst part of Friday prayer was possibly standing outside and talking to Isis’ friends. Atem went to a different mosque, and Rishid always had to get the car, so he never had anyone else to chat with.

Just Susan.

“Did you hear what happened in Cairo?” She asked, leaning closer to Isis almost immediately after leaving the building. “At the concert?”

Isis nodded, eyes hard. “The homosexual flag? I heard.”

Susan clicked her tongue, and Malik did his best not to let it grate down his spine like keys on a car door. “They’re looking for the person who had it. Hopefully he’ll be arrested.”

Isis hummed. “I don’t know. It’s quite a harsh crime.” Malik’s eyes flickered to her. “Even for such a sin.” He looked down again. “Besides, I’ve heard what the guards in those prisons do. If there was any justice, more than half of them would be behind bars as well.”

Susan sniffed. Her brother was an officer. “I suppose you’re right, but it’s better than nothing.”

Isis opened her mouth to reply, but Malik saw the bumper of their blue Honda round the corner and he grabbed her arm. “Rishid has the car, sister, we should go.” He began walking without her, and after a quick farewell, she hurried to catch up with him.

“Malik, what was that about?” She hissed.

He let out a breath, forcing himself to relax as they neared the car. He usually had slightly more restraint. “Sorry. I have some homework left to do that I just remembered, and I don’t want to leave it until next week.”

Isis sighed. “Alright, I understand,” she muttered, opening the passenger door, “but don’t do it again.”

Rishid raised an eyebrow as Malik climbed into the back, catching his gaze in the mirror, but no one spoke for the ride home. Isis left the car before Rishid had even properly parked, storming into the once-white building.

Rishid turned to Malik, arm dangling over the back of the seat. Burn scars mangled his hand – to this day he insisted that it was his own doing. “What happened?”

Malik focused on the streaks of dirt, climbing and clinging to the building like ivy, spreading to every section as time wore on. “Susan.”

Rishid sighed. “I know you don’t like her, Malik, but-”

“She was saying that people should be arrested for being gay.” Malik clenched his fist. “No, actually, homosexuality.”

A pause, and another sigh, much slower than the first, as though all of Rishid’s energy was drained by the sentence. “I know you’re angry,” he murmured, “but you’ll be out of here in a month and living in San Francisco for your year out. Right?” Malik nodded. “You can do whatever you want there. Date boys or girls or both or neither.”

“Isis won’t approve, whether I’m here or there.”

“But you’ll be safer there.” Rishid reached out, gently placing his hand on Malik’s shoulder. “Just trust me, brother. Lay low for the next month. You’ll thank yourself for it.”

Malik glanced at Rishid’s hand.

_He’s not your brother, and according to Allah, he never will be._

“Okay,” he mumbled. “Sorry, 'akh.”

“Don’t apologise.” Rishid gave his shoulder a squeeze before pulling away. “Come on, we should go inside before Isis begins to wonder where we are.”

Malik nodded and followed him in, toeing off his shoes at the door. Isis hardly spared him a glance. “Go start on your homework. I’ll call you for lunch.”

“Thanks, Isis,” he murmured. Rishid cleared his throat. “And I’m sorry for pulling you away.”

A curt nod. “Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.”

Once he reached the safe confines of his cream-walled bedroom, he pulled his laptop out from under his bed and checked up the incident on Google.

**Egypt arrests seven after raising gay pride flag at concert.**

Malik’s teeth clenched as he scanned the article. Promoting homosexuality and gay art, inciting immorality, blasphemy.

He slammed his laptop shut, taking a few deep breaths. After a minute, he opened it again and pulled up tumblr in a new tab. It was the only website that he felt safe on.

 **Atrocities against the LGBT community happen time and time again in Egypt,** he wrote **, in the name of religion, but no religion preaches against homosexuality, and nor should the laws of any state or country. I’ve lived in Egypt, and my family and I still suffer from the effects. Stop arresting people for being different, and start arresting the ones who kill people for diverging from the norm. Until this happens, Egypt will forever remain excluded from the developed world, as it cannot claim to be a first world country when hundreds are living in fear and pain.**

Even as he finished, Isis called him. “Malik! Lunch is ready!”

He hesitated for only a second before hitting the post button, leaving it without tags. “Coming.”

* * *

 

Ryou hummed as he scanned through his tumblr feed – a well deserved break from five minutes of study. He glanced at the book, and back at his phone.

It just wasn’t working for him today. Better to leave it and go back to it the next day.

He paused again and picked up his poetry book. Maybe just Robert Frost - he was relatively easy to learn.

As he read, the words bled together, sentence by sentence word by word until all that was left was amassivejumblethathecouldn’tunderstand.

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe the break was more deserved than he thought it was.

He picked up his phone again and began flicking. Before long, an article came up, and he frowned. He followed a few independent journalists, but this was a New York Times piece.

He glanced up at the username. **EgyptianPan.**

Oh, it was what’s-his-name that wrote the article on hijabi women having to deal with the brunt of insolence. Ryou had only begun following him recently.

He scanned through his writing, frown deepening. His tongue darted out over his lip and he clicked into **EgyptianPan** ’s profile.

An image of a Ducati shone up at him, and one of the barest bios Ryou had ever seen followed it.

**Egyptian, pansexual, second year journalism student.**

Nothing more.

After a few seconds, Ryou tapped the **message** button. **Hey,** he typed, pausing between letters. **You don’t know me, but I just wanted to check to make sure you were okay. I saw your post about the seven arrests in Egypt and you seemed really upset.**

He nodded and set his phone aside again. Okay, now that he had done that, maybe he could try to concentrate for a while.

Just as he picked up his book, his phone beeped with a new message.

He clicked into it. **EgyptianPan** had already replied.

**Thanks, I’m okay. I appreciate the concern though.**

Ryou smiled. **It’s no problem.** He paused again. **I love your articles. I’ve read a good few recently.** The second he hit send, it occurred to him that he sounded like a stalker.

 **EgyptianPan** didn’t seem to care all that much, for he replied as quickly as before. **Really? I’m glad you like them.**

 **I love them** , Ryou decided. **They’re always really empathetic I guess? I just don’t see a lot of that in journalism nowadays.** He paused, teeth worrying at his lip again. He typed much more slowly this time. **I’m Ryou, by the way.**

 **Malik** , he replied, **and thank you. That means a lot to me, especially right now.**

Ryou’s fingers hovered over his screen. **Want to talk about it?**

While he waited on a response, he sent a link to the post to Mehi and Bakura.

“Ryou, you’re meant to be studying,” Mehi called from the next room as the message sent.

“Can’t.” He settled back into the couch cushions.

She wandered out and sat next to him. “What is it?”

“An article,” Ryou mumbled. “A journalist I follow called Malik shared it.”

Mehi frowned. “And now you’re…?”

“Messaging him to see if he wants to talk.”

“This is going to end badly.”

“It mightn’t,” Ryou challenged.

At that moment, Malik responded. **Thanks for the offer, but I think I’m okay at the moment. If you want to talk though, I’m always here.**

Ryou’s smile caught on his face and wouldn’t drop. **I’m the same for you.**

“So, so badly,” Mehi continued, but she opened the post. “Oh, this guy. Okay, yeah, I know him – maybe it won’t end badly.”

“You know him?” Ryou looked over at her.

Mehi shrugged. “I mean, apparently I follow him already on tumblr, so yeah.”

“His writing is amazing. You should read some of his articles.”

Mehi smiled. “I will.” She leaned in and kissed Ryou’s cheek, stealing his phone away. “Now study. You’ll get this back in forty minutes.”


	2. Chapter 02 | Does

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Today was London pride and I just want you to note something. A group of TERFs managed to lead the parade (it wasn't organised that way - it just happened). They had the typical signs, but they tried to get someone arrested because they had a trans pride flag, and they took photos of any suspect trans people and followed some to try and attack them. Trans people face a fucking lot of persecution within the community and it needs to be noted. This is, unfortunately, not a small minority with a loud voice. It is a majority (however small the percentage difference of supporters vs transphobic people is). This is why we still need pride. We need to be able to exist, and a lot of people within the community can't without persecution - even if we exclude trans people.
> 
> However, sad note over, here's the new chapter! I wanted to keep it happy enough because today is also pride. Hope you guys enjoy and had a good day.

**When did you start writing?**

Malik had to think about that one for a few minutes.  **About four years ago** , he fibbed.  **I joined the high school newspaper for an extracurricular activity.**

**That’s really cool!** Ryou replied.  **The only thing I did in high school was Dungeons and Dragons.**

Malik smiled. What a nerd.  **That’s still pretty cool. I don’t think I’ve ever done RPGs before.**

He could practically hear Ryou gasping as the three dots came up under his name, then disappeared, then appeared, then disappeared.  **YOU WHAT??!!!?!**

**Never played before. It didn’t really interest me.** He jumped as his alarm rang and glanced at his phone. Time for maghrib.  **I’m sorry, I know you probably want to scream at me for that, but I need to go. Back in an hour or so.** Saying he’d be back soon was a lot easier than saying he had to pray.

**FINE BUT WE’RE TALKING ABOUT THIS ONCE YOU GET BACK!**

Malik smiled slightly and closed his laptop, slipping off his bed. He kept his mat angled to the north all the time now. It was just easier than moving things around when he needed to pray.

He took a few breaths before beginning the obligatory ra’kahs, eyes closed. The words came easily to him, but the memories clouded his blinded mind, repeating over and over and over again as he made his way through the sequences with all the grace of an overweight American tourist.

He skipped the nafls after the two sunnah, rushing through them as well. He could hardly bare the ra’kah, but the sunnah were even worse. Sometimes he could see the blood when he recited them.

Just as he stepped off the mat, he heard Isis call him. “Malik, Rishid, dinner’s ready.” She tended to do her maghrib a few minutes early so that she could have dinner on the table for them when they finished.

Rishid hadn’t had the heart to tell her that he didn’t pray anymore; at all.

They were both sitting at the table when Malik came out, and steaming plates of kushari rested on the table in front of them. They began eating once Malik sat down beside Rishid. Isis stayed on the other side of the table.

They ate in silence with the news playing in the background, occasionally catching Malik’s attention with mentions of Trump threatening to ‘totally destroy’ North Korea – Isis was still relatively certain that he was a safer option than Clinton was.

_ “-and there still has been no word on the arrests after an individual waved a gay pride flag in the air at a concert in Cairo.”  _ Malik’s head shot up. Isis just continued eating.  _ “Homosexuality is still a punishable crime in Egypt, and local police have been cracking down on the incident.” _

“Rightly so,” Isis murmured, noting Malik’s interest.

“You said earlier you didn’t think it should be punished.” He forced himself to look away.

“I said I didn’t think they should be arrested because of the atrocities committed in those prisons,” she corrected, carefully spooning her food into her mouth and chewing before continuing. “Such a crime against nature and Allah can’t go unpunished, Malik.”

His nails dug into the palms of his hands.

Rishid cleared his throat. “What’s fuzzy, green, and will kill you if it falls on you?” No one responded. “A pool table.” Silence took over the table again as the topic on the news changed to a hurricane.

Malik pushed his food around on his plate, eyes flickering between it and Isis. She had let her hair out of her khimar, which still covered her shoulders, so a sheet of black velvet flowed down to her back, wavy from the amount of pins she had secured it with to actually fit it into her headdress. She hardly ever let it down, even around her siblings.

“I just feel like you don’t understand the severity of the action, Malik,” she finally commented.

Malik scowled. “I don’t see why it should be punishable.”

“It’s a crime against Allah.”

“Allah created human beings perfectly,” Malik snapped, a little louder than necessary. “It  _ literally  _ says in the Qur’an ‘we have indeed created humankind in the best of moulds’.”

“Yes, and it also condemns homosexuality as one of the worst sins.” Isis merely ate another bite of kushari, as though discussing the weather. “The story of Lot-“

“That’s likely to be condemning rape, or even lewdness. What if it was two men or women who weren’t being lewd?” Malik challenged. “What if they never had sex in their lives but loved one another. Would that also be a crime?”

“Yes,” Isis decided. “It is not about the act itself, but the intention to act.”

“That’s like arresting someone for a crime they didn’t commit yet because they thought about it!”

Isis’ eyes glinted. “Malik, calm yourself.”

Malik took a deep breath. “Allah warned the village. Why do that if He wanted them to die for their crime? If Allah created humanity in His perfect image like the Qur’an says,” he spoke slowly, “aren’t you being blasphemous by saying that gay people deserve to be punished? He created gay people, so by saying that, you’re saying they should be punished for something that He gave to them.”

Rishid coughed into his dinner and Isis’ face darkened. “Allah wasn’t the one who created them,” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous, almost inaudible over the news. “It was Iblis’ temptations that ruined them. You would do well to remember that.”

* * *

 

Ryou stared at the article. He and Malik hadn’t actually exchanged surnames. Not yet, even though they had been chatting and sending each other articles for just over a month.

Ryou had even helped Malik edit his latest article on the disadvantages of the current church-state relations in America.

But here he was, on Facebook, staring at the very article that Malik had just shared on tumblr, shared by one of his old high school friends.

**Extremities of Either Side: To Separate or Decline by Malik Ishtar** .

Malik Ishtar. Ryou clicked into his profile. It was set to private, but he could see his profile photo – a smiling man of twenty-two with striking blonde hair and amethyst eyes that crackled, even captured in a still frame. His cover photo was the same Ducati motorcycle that he used as his profile photo on Tumblr.

**One mutual friend: Akefia Hamada.**

Ryou bit his lip. “Hey, Mehi?”

“Hm?” His girlfriend looked up from her book, blonde hair curling in around striking grey eyes despite it being tied up. She had her shayla around her neck, not quite bothered to wear it in the heat when it was just her, Bakura, and Ryou.

“Would it be creepy if I sent Malik a friend request on Facebook?” He kept his gaze on the computer. “One of my friends shared his article and I found his profile.”

“So he never gave you his profile?”

“Nope.”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Bakura!” Ryou called, not satisfied with the response. Mehi rolled her eyes, though she was grinning.

“Yes it’s creepy, and yes you should do it,” their boyfriend replied, walking into the sitting room with a bowl of ice-cream.

Ryou nodded and hit the  **send friend request** button. “Should you be eating that?”

Bakura scowled at him. “You’re the one asking me if it’s okay to stalk someone. I’m just eating.”

“You have a performance tomorrow,” Mehi reminded him.

“Fuck that.” He dropped onto the couch beside her. “I can still dance and eat ice-cream.”

“Mhm, sure.”

“I can.” He shoved a spoonful of ice-cream into his mouth as if to prove a point, and promptly grabbed his forehead as he swallowed.

Mehi smirked. “Brainfreeze?”

“No. Shut up.” He groaned and leaned his head against her arm. Mehi chuckled and kissed his forehead. 

“If you’re going to eat it, just don’t make yourself sick.” Ryou shook his head, smiling. His computer chimed and he glanced down.

**Malik Ishtar has accepted your friend request.**

A message came in a few seconds later.  **Hey, how’d you find me on here?**

“Did he already reply?” Mehi asked.

Ryou nodded, typing out his message.  **Hi! One of my friends shared your article.**

**Oh okay. I was worried you’d hacked my computer or something.**

He grinned.  **I can if you want.** He couldn’t. At all.

**Please don’t.**

Bakura snorted. “I’m almost jealous.”

“Don’t be.” Ryou rolled his eyes. “He’s just a friend.”

“Isn’t that how we started out?” Mehi winked.

“Shush. I’ve never met him anyway.” Ryou shook his head as he typed.  **Don’t worry, I won’t.**

Bakura hummed. “Maybe we should.”

Ryou’s head shot up. “What?”

“Well you like him a lot, why not add him to the group chat so we can meet him.”

“That sounds dangerous with you involved.” Ryou narrowed his eyes.

“Come on, we’re harmless.” Mehi smiled.

“Sure.” Ryou rolled his eyes but added a bit to his message.  **Would you like to join a gc with my partners? I sent your articles to them and they really want to meet you now.**

**Uh yeah, sure. What are their names?**

**The asshole with white hair is Bakura (he/him), and the asshole with grey hijab is Mehi (she/her).** Ryou looked up. “He’ll join.”

“ _ Great _ .” Bakura rubbed his hands together. “Time to corrupt another of your friends to our sinful ways.”

**Okay, cool. You can add me.**

“I’m adding him now, no scaring him off.” Ryou clicked into their chat and added Malik to the list.

Bakura immediately sent him a friend request and started group call. “What’s up, bitch?”

_ “I see what you mean about him being an asshole, honey,”  _ Malik called.

“Hey!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please leave comments because I require validation.


	3. Chapter 03 | It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Here's the new update! Sorry if I update at weird times for the next few weeks. I'm abroad and there's a six hour time difference so for a good few people, this will probably be updated on Fridays - but it's Saturday here. Anyway, hope you enjoy.
> 
> CW: Transphobic attack, wounds and blood.

Mehi’s face burned and pulsed as she walked in the door, dropping her keys on the counter. She adjusted her hijab to try and pull it over the bruise as she slipped her trainers off. Maybe they wouldn’t notice.

“I’m back,” she called, making an immediate path towards the bathroom.

“Hey.” Ryou looked up and frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah of course.” She winced. Talking hurt.

Her voice must have been off, or he must have seen her flinch, because Ryou stood up and walked over to her, the sound of his padding feet lost underneath the pounding of her head. “Are you sure?” She nodded. “Why don’t you take off your hijab?”

“I don’t really want to today.” It was unusual but not unheard of for her to leave it on after Friday prayer, but usually she switched it for her shayla if she wanted to keep her hair covered.

Bakura looked up from his bowl of chicken wings, frowning. Ryou looked worried too. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she insisted, a little more forceful as she made her way down the hall. “I just don’t want to take it off.”

“Mehi,” Bakura called, “why don’t you look at us?”

She froze, shoulders tensing. Ryou reached out and took her hand. “Please?”

She let out a long breath, slowly turning. Maybe they wouldn’t see it.

“Oh God…” Ryou reached up to her cheek.

She winced as his fingers brushed the wound. “It’s nothing.”

Bakura made his way over. “Ryou, will you grab the medical kit?”

Ryou swallowed and nodded, scurrying into the kitchen. Mehi looked away from Bakura. “I really don’t want to talk about it. It’s nothing big.”

“Take off your hijab.”

She sighed but lowered it, revealing the rest of the bruise stretching past her eye and the cut by her ear.

Bakura reached up, taking her chin in his hand to tilt her head so he could see it properly. His lips pursed. “Who did it?”

“Some asshole near the mosque. Bakura, it’s nothing. I’ve gotten worse from training.”

“Yeah, well in training, they go after you so you can get stronger,” Bakura growled. “This was an attack, Mehi.”

“Stop.” Mehi pulled away from him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re still bleeding.”

She touched her lip and checked her finger. Sure enough, blood dotted her skin. “It’s fine.”

“ _Who was it_?”

“Bakura, now isn’t the time,” Mehi sighed, as Ryou returned with the kit.

“When is the time then?” He challenged, following them over to the couch.

“Never.” She dropped down, closing her eyes as reclining into the cushions soothed her back.

Ryou opened the medical kit and took out a swab and rubbing alcohol. He allowed the swab to soak in the alcohol before raising it to Mehi’s lip. “This will hurt.” She gave a small grunt in response and he began to wipe up the blood, washing the cut.

“What happened?” He asked, moving to the cut by her ear.

She sighed. “Some asshole from my old school saw me leaving the mosque. He followed me down the street and shoved me. I turned around, and he punched me.” She shook her head. “I got him back and got out of there.”

“You have to go to the police,” Ryou murmured.

She ignored his statement. “Do you think I need stitches?”

“No, but you need to report him.” Ryou lowered the swab. He didn’t pick up a plaster – Mehi was allergic to them.

“I don’t want to.” Mehi shook her head. “It’s just going to be a bunch of deadnaming, them probably demanding that I take off my shayla so they can see the injury, and then doing nothing.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” She opened her eyes again. “I’m not going, Ryou.”

He sat back and looked up at Bakura. “Don’t look at me.” He shook his head. “I think she’s right. Nothing’s going to come of it.”

“We need to make sure he doesn’t do it again!” Ryou protested.

“How?” Bakura shrugged.

Ryou grabbed his phone and began calling someone. Mehi scowled. “Ryou, leave him out of this.”

“No. If you won’t listen to me, maybe you’ll listen to him.” Ryou frowned.

The line crackled. “ _Hello?”_ Malik yawned.

“Malik, if someone was attacked, do you think they should go to the police?”

“It’s not that simple, Ryou!” Mehi protested.

“ _What? Yeah. Why?”_

“He says yes.” Ryou looked up at her, an eyebrow raised.

_“Ryou, what’s going on?”_

“Nothing!” Mehi called.

Ryou spoke over her. “Mehi was attacked on her way home from the mosque and is refusing to go to the police.”

_“What?”_

“I’m not going, no matter what he says,” Mehi snapped. “You shouldn’t be involving him.”

Ryou scowled and held up his phone. Mehi pulled up her hijab again and turned away from the camera, but ended up giving Ryou a better shot of her injury. He sent the image on to Malik. “Take a look at what I sent, Malik.”

“Ryou, delete the photo!” Mehi glared at him. “I’m not going!”

“ _Holy fuck, Ryou, put me onto her.”_

Ryou held out the phone to Mehi. She snatched it and awkwardly held it up to her uninjured ear. “I’m not going. I don’t care – I’m _not_.”

“ _Okay, Mehi, what happened?”_

“Some asshole hit me on the way home. He knew me before I started transitioning. Some white fuckboy or other.”

Malik sighed, and the pause eased Mehi’s pounding heart a little. _“I know you’re worried, but he can’t do that again.”_

“Malik, Ryou and Bakura have already tried to talk me into it and I’m not going.”

“I’ve been saying you should do whatever you’re comfortable with,” Bakura protested.

“Okay, right, just Ryou.”

“I’m just worried for you!” He insisted.

“I know, but I don’t want to do this.”

Malik clicked his tongue. _“Look, I think it’d be a better idea to go. You might get a nice officer,”_ he pointed out. _“I know it’s tough, but it’s better than getting attacked again.”_

Mehi’s eyes burned. “I’m not going,” she repeated slowly before thrusting the phone back to Ryou and leaving the room.

Ryou looked up at Bakura, hands shaking.

Bakura sighed and took the phone. “Hey, Malik. Sorry about that. I’m just… I’m just going to go talk to them, okay?”

“ _Yeah, sure. Ring me back later, okay honey? When they’re doing better?”_

“Yeah, I will.” He nodded slowly. “Fuck, this is shit.”

“ _Yeah.”_ Malik sighed again. “ _Ryou’s right though. Something needs to be done.”_

“Something,” Bakura agreed, “but not this.” He sighed and hung up. “That wasn't a good way to handle it, Ryou.”

The other man frowned down at his hands. “I was just worried and I thought she might listen to me if someone else said the same thing.”

Bakura sighed again and sat beside Ryou on the couch. “I know, but you shouldn’t have sent that photo without her saying it was okay. Or called Malik. You know it’s up to her.”

Ryou leaned back, hitting his head against the back of the couch. “But what if she gets hurt again because no one did anything?”

“We’ll talk to her,” Bakura promised, “but no yelling. You know she’s able to take care of herself.”

Ryou heaved himself up off the couch without responding and made his way towards their bedroom. Mehi was curled up on the bed, her back facing them, hijab half lying on her cheek and half fixed into place. Ryou climbed onto the bed with her. She didn’t move as he wrapped his arms around her waist as he lay down by her. Bakura watched from the doorway. “I’m sorry,” Ryou mumbled. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.” Mehi grunted slightly in response. “I know why you don’t want to go, but-”

“No buts,” she muttered. “I’m not going. I’ll maybe tell my parents, and that’s it. Okay?” Ryou hesitated, and she looked over her shoulder at him. “Ryou, I need you to respect this. I’m not going.”

Ryou gave her a small squeeze and kissed her shoulder. “I do respect it. I’m just not happy about it.” Mehi placed her hand over his, returning the squeeze. “We won’t go.”

Mehi brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

Bakura slowly nodded and sent Malik a quick, **All’s good** , before joining his partners in the bed.

He climbed onto Mehi’s other side, so she ended up being the middle spoon. “Don’t you have rehearsals today?” Mehi murmured, kissing the back of his head.

Bakura waved off her concerns. “It’s fine - I’ll make up for it. They know I have a lot of practice anyway.”

Ryou huffed. “Bakura, get your ass to work.”

Bakura groaned. “I don’t want to. I’m tired enough with practice as it is.” _Swan Lake_ was a classic but there wasn’t a simple dance in the entire production.

Mehi withdrew her arms and curled into Ryou. “Go. You’re not getting fired because of this.”

Bakura huffed and pulled himself up again. “Fine,” he mumbled, “but I’m having a cheat night tonight.”

Ryou snickered. “You mean a normal night?” Bakura narrowed his eyes. “You know, since you cheat so often-”

“I know, I got it.” Bakura flipped him off as he left the room, leaving the two curled up in the bed, giggling at the dumb joke.


	4. Chapter 04 | Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you're enjoying so far. This chapter is relatively dark, just a heads up. Also check out the cover that samael_dire on instagram drew for this! I honestly love it so much - you guys should check him out. He's an amazing artist. Unfortunately, AO3 doesn't let you attach covers to stories so I've put it just before the actual chapter.

****

**CW:** Outing, familial homophobia, forced out of home, description of injury to face.

* * *

The purple blossomed over Mehi's face in the photo, spreading from her eyebrow to the top of her cheek, eye already swelling to a vicious red. The gash on her cheek was half hidden by the grey fabric of her hijab, and her hand was blurred from flashing up to pull the cloth over her head.

Her eyes were half closed, only a tiny flash of grey and white visible. Her lip was busted and still bleeding, despite having been cleaned up beforehand. Red leaked down the side of her chin, a thin river of blood between a brown valley of skin.

A small patch of her hair had been visible, hanging over her forehead, but he had blacked it out in a photo editing app before he posted it. He had also blurred out most of her face with the exception of the wounds, for her protection.

The photo was the cover of the article.

**Muslim Trans Woman Attacked at Local Mosque.**

Not his best work in terms of poetic titles, but it caught enough attention. Or rather, far more attention than he'd ever considered.

He hadn't thought to change his Twitter settings – anything he posted to tumblr was automatically shared on his Twitter page – and by the time he actually remembered it, it had already been shared a hundred times.

He had taken it down immediately, but now there were several versions of the article circulating. All with his name on it.

**Queer and Muslim youth have always been at risk of attack, but it is trans Muslims, women in particular, that face some of the worst persecution in today's society, particularly women of colour. A woman, who will be referred to as Jane Doe for her privacy and protection, was attacked on her way home from her local mosque only two days ago by an old schoolmate, who shouted slurs as he assaulted her. 'Terrorist. Tranny.' They're not uncommon to hear, even in day-to-day life in America.**

**However, Jane Doe was also hesitant to approach police about the assault for fear of further persecution. The police have never been a friend of LGBT+ or hijabji women, and Jane Doe stated that she didn't, 'want to go through all the deadnaming and humiliation just to have them tell [her] that they can't do anything'.**

**Unfortunately, this trend is common throughout America, and San Francisco is no exception.**

He jumped when his phone rang, and his blood turned to the ice cooling the water on his bedside table, but it was Ryou's name that came up. Not his sister's.

He let out a breath. He was being overdramatic. Maybe she hadn't even seen it. The people sharing it weren't in her friend group, and she wasn't on Twitter.

He tapped the answer button. "Hello?"

 _"_ _Ryou, give me the fucking phone!"_

 _"_ _Malik?"_

"Ryou?" Malik blocked his other ear, struggling to hear the man. "What's going on? Is Mehi okay?"

 _"_ _I- one sec, Mehi,_ stop! _I'm trying to talk to him!"_ The voices faded for a second, and Ryou returned a bit clear. " _Malik."_

"Hey, what's going on?" Malik shook his head, but his heart pounded and the answer trespassed unbidden before Ryou responded.

" _Malik, why did you post that?"_

"She didn't want to go to the police, and something had to be done." He glanced back at his computer screen. Another five likes and two retweets. Shit.

" _Yes, but that wasn't your place. It was hers."_

Malik chewed his lip. "I didn't see anything wrong with it when I was writing it."

Ryou sighed.  _"Look, the main thing is you said she was trans. She's not out here – she was going stealth."_

"But I didn't name her!"

" _You had a photo of her, and everyone has seen those injuries over the past two days."_

"Fuck." Malik dragged his hand down his face. "Ryou, I'm-" The words caught in his throat.

" _I'm not the one you have to apologise to."_ Despite the calmness in Ryou's voice, it wasn't soft.

"You're right, can I talk to her?"

Ryou hesitated. " _I don't think that's a good-"_

 _"_ _If he wants to talk to me, put me on to him."_

 _"_ _Mehi-"_

 _"_ Honey, it's fine," Malik assured him. "Please."

Ryou sighed again and the phone crackled as it was passed.  _"Hey,"_ Mehi muttered. She sounded a lot calmer than she had only moments before.

"Mehi, I'm so sorry, I didn't- I just-"

 _"_ _I know, you wanted to help,"_ Mehi huffed,  _"but this didn't. You get that, right?"_

He could feel his chest tightened and his head span. His eyes focused on the nothingness on the wall. "Yeah. I shouldn't have. I know."

 _"_ _I get why you did it, just… don't do it again. Please."_

"I won't. I-I've tried taking it down, but-"

 _"_ _Eh. You taking it down won't change people seeing it. Just ask me next time, okay?"_

"But you don't."

" _Look, it's fine. The fuckhead deserves it."_

He didn't even realise that he was shaking. "I'm sorry."

" _You don't need to apologise so much."_

"I know but I-" He heard a door slam. "Mehi, I need to go."

" _Is everything okay?"_

He barely processed the concern in her voice. "Bye." He hung up and threw the phone onto his bed as Isis stormed in. "Is everything-"

"What did you  _do_ , Malik?" She hissed. Her eyes sparked like coal in the dim light of his room. He hadn't noticed the sun setting, and now the walls shone with a tint of red.

"I don't-"

"The  _article_." Her jaw was clenched like his hands. "People were talking about it at the mosque today. Do you know how humiliated I was? I didn't even know what they were talking about." She shook her head. Her khimar was dislodged, locks of hair curling in around her face. "Why would you write that?"

"Because, I-"

"You're going to take it down," she decided. "I can't have people wondering if you're friends with someone like that."

"Isis-"

"Take it down. Now."

"I can't!" He snapped. "Too many people have shared it."

"Well find a way." Isis glared at him. "I have done  _too much_  for this family since we moved, and I'm not going to have you tarnish our reputation because you picked up a job at some magazine that made you write-"

"No one made me write it! I wanted to!"

Isis stared at him. "Why? Where did you even meet this man?"

"She's a woman," Malik corrected. "I met her online."

"You're going to cut connections with him immediately." Isis pulled her khimar back over her forehead. "Allah, forgive me, but I won't let him corrupt you. Why you would even make  _friends_ with such people is beyond me-"

"Because I'm one of them!" He yelled.

Isis stared at him again, but no questions spilled from her lips now, and the fire in her eyes was gone, leaving nothing but icy grey halls in place of crackling coal. "What?"

The ice spread to Malik's fingertips, bleeding into his veins and dragging it through his body. He almost managed to stop himself, but the cold spread to his mind like brain-freeze and stopped all coherent thought. "I like men."

"Take it back," Isis whispered. "Take it back this instant."

He spread his arms. Numbness began to replace the cold and he stared through her. "How? I can't change who I am."

"Then get out."

He faltered. "What?"

"You heard me." Her glare was back. "If you can't live by Allah's laws, I refuse to have you in this house. Leave  _now_."

"I'm not going without my things," he muttered, hands shaking as he reached over to grab his bag.

"You have five minutes." She turned and left the room, much more slowly.

He picked up his phone and sent a quick text to Atem.  **Hey, sorry for the short notice, but can I spend the night? Isis is kicking me out and I don't have anywhere else to go rn.**

He pocketed his phone and began shoving as much as he could into his duffel – clothes, a pair of shoes, his laptop, his chargers, one of his books, a brush, deodorant, toothbrush, wallet, credit card, teddy from when he was young, a photo-

"Time's up!" He heard Isis yell. "Go. Now!"

He yanked the zip closed, pulled on his shoes and stormed outside. Isis stood by the open door. He still held the family photograph in his hand - the day Isis had graduated. She narrowed her eyes and caught it, pulling it away from him. "Sister-"

"You don't get to call me that anymore." She held the frame by her side, knuckles white. "You can return when you admit your sin and stop this."

Malik's jaw clenched. "I guess I'm never coming back then," he muttered, picking up his coat. "Tell Rishid I said goodbye."

"Leave him out of this." Isis ground her teeth. "And leave your key."

Malik pulled his keys from his pocket and unhooked the house one from the ring, leaving only his motorcycle key behind. "Goodbye." He walked outside, and Isis slammed the door behind him.

His phone buzzed on his way to the elevator. A text from Atem.  **I'm not surprised – I would have too. Stay away from me, fag lover.**

His eyes burned and he slammed his fist into the elevator button. It opened with a soft ding, gentle music playing inside.

He checked through his contacts as he walked in. Susan, Rishid, Isis, Atem; all useless now. He deleted Atem's number.

Ryou replaced him as his most contacted person. He hesitated. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. The music changed tracks just as the elevator doors opened. He could get a hotel instead.

He made his way over to his motorbike, but his duffel was too large for it. He groaned, his head falling back, and he pulled out his phone. He really had no shame.

Ryou picked up after a few dials. " _Hello?"_

"Hey, honey, I- I mean Ryou- I-" His throat closed. "I-I-"

" _Are you okay?"_

He let out a breath, trying to ease the heat behind his skull. "I jus- I just- Could I come stay with you for the night? I can take a bus, or-"

" _Why, what happened?"_  Ryou sounded worried.

"I, uh…" He scoffed. "I outed myself, and Isis kicked me out."

" _Oh, fuck, Malik- I- Yeah, come over. We're on San Bruno Avenue – three zero seventy. Bakura will meet you at the bus stop, okay?"_

"Okay." Malik sniffed. "I'm so sorry."

 _"_ _Don't be, Malik, just get here safely."_

* * *

The bus journey was silent and numb. He pressed his forehead against the glass. It made him vibrate, but the pane was cool with condensation from the rain outside and it eased his headache. Fuck.

He gripped the strap of his bag as the bus pulled into the stop. Fuck. He dragged himself to his feet and managed to force himself off the bus. The door nearly closed on his bag behind him, and drove off.

He closed his eyes again as the rain pelted down on top of him. On the bus he'd felt like a hot mess of nothingness; at least now he felt cold and wet.

"Shit, get in out of the rain."

His eyes flashed open as someone grabbed his hand and tugged him in under the bus stop roof.

"Do you not have a coat?" Malik shook his head, and the other man pulled off his red hoodie and wrapped it around his shoulders.

Malik swallowed. "Bakura?"

His periwinkle eyes met Malik's. "Well who else would it be?" His profile photo must have been old - in it, he had short hair and only one small scar at the bottom of his cheek. He tried to grin, his scar curving into a crescent moon, stark against his dark skin. "Come on – Ryou has dinner on, and you look like you need a shower."

Malik just nodded dimly and shuffled after Bakura down the path. He shivered and pulled the hoodie closer to him. "Thanks."

"No problem." Bakura shrugged. He was shivering slightly too, now only wearing a t-shirt and jeans as a barrier from the weather, but he didn't object.

"I'm sorry about this." Malik switched the bag from his right hand to his left.

Bakura glanced up at him, eyes now obscured by his mop of silver hair. His roots were beginning to peek through, but with such a dark natural colour, it looked more like part of the aesthetic than laziness. "You don't need to apologise." He nudged him. "You doing okay?"

Malik shrugged, staring at his feet. His shoes squelched, as wet as his hair now.

Bakura just nodded and turned into a doorway. "Come on – we're up here."

The apartment was only on the second floor, and, thankfully, Malik's bag wasn't that heavy. It wasn't until the door opened that the empty feeling faded – when he smelled the kushari.

It was just too much – it reminded him too much of Isis. His eyes burned and he dropped his bag. Bakura closed the door. "Shit are you okay?"

"Yeah." He buried his face in his hands. "I'm fine, just-" He choked on the words and dug his nails into his forehead. " _Fuck_."

"Malik?"

He sniffed. "I'm fine-" A pair of slim arms wound around him and he blinked open his eyes. A cascade of white hair blocked his vision for a moment before he found a pair of brown eyes. He normally didn't like physical contact from people he didn't know too well, but his legs buckled, and he buried his face in Ryou's shoulder. "I'm s- I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Ryou breathed, giving him a small squeeze. "God, it's okay." He gently brushed Malik's hair out of his face. "Do you want some water, or to sit down? Or a shower? You look like you're frozen."

"I gave him my hoodie," Bakura supplied, but was ignored.

Malik shook his head. "I- I just-"

"Here's a towel." He looked up to see Mehi holding it out to him. Her bruise was still sharp, but it was turning an ugly green.

Ryou slowly released him and he took the towel. "Thanks."

"You don't need to thank us for everything," Bakura commented. "But you should go and take a shower. It'll stop you getting a cold."

Malik still hesitated. "Come on." Mehi offered her hand. "Have you got some clothes?"

Malik nodded and glanced at his bag. It was wet, but the rain shouldn't have soaked through to the clothes.

"Grab a pair and I'll show you how to work the shower."

Another nod and he ducked to unzip his bag. He pulled out the first t-shirt and sweatpants he could find and stood again. Mehi's hand was still outstretched, so he carefully took it and allowed her to lead him to the bathroom by the kitchen.

"It's not too hard," she assured him, pulling a cord. "You just twist this knob in the front for water pressure, and then this one for temperature. Okay?" He nodded. "You can use whatever's in there."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be – this isn't your fault."

"Yes it is." Malik sniffed and rubbed his eye. "But I meant the article."

Mehi sighed and turned to him. "Malik, I'm fine. Okay?" Her voice was gentle. "Should you have asked? Yeah. Definitely. Especially about the photo." He opened his mouth to apologise again, but she cut him off. "But it's okay. You apologised. And I'm more worried about you than I am myself."

He shook his head and feigned a smile. "I'm fine."

"Well you haven't called anyone honey since you walked in," Mehi pointed out, "and I've never heard you go a full conversation without saying it. Even in the group chat." Malik looked down. "Just take a shower and leave your clothes outside the door, okay?" Mehi murmured. "I'll put them in the dryer. We'll eat when you come out."

"Thanks." He waited until the door was closed to turn on the water, and then stripped as it was heating. He carefully cracked the door open, hiding behind it, and slid them out before locking himself in.

He had to admit, the hot water helped. As much as the cold had eased his headache, the shower evaporated the lump in his throat.

He took his time, massaging a round of shampoo and conditioner into his hair before he even began with the soap. By the time he stepped out, he could hear the dryer whirring in the background and the three talking quietly.

He heaved a low sigh. The cold air stung once he turned off the water, and it was as if the numbness had only been temporarily warded off.

It crept back up on him as he rubbed himself dry, and the lump grew as he pulled on his clothes. His hair was still stringy and damp as he walked out, and he had left his earrings and necklace on the sink, but he didn't really want to turn back to get them.

Not when Ryou looked up with a smile as he set the last plate of steaming kushari on the table. "I was about to come and get you."

Malik swallowed and offered a warbling smile. "Thanks." He slid into the chair beside Mehi. "I'm… really sorry about this."

"It's okay." Ryou placed his hand over Malik's and gave it a squeeze. "We don't mind." He sat down as well. "The couch folds out – I hope that's okay. Sorry, I know it's not very big-"

"That's perfect," Malik assured him. "Thank you."

He took a bite of the kushari and nearly started crying again.

"Is it okay?" Mehi asked.

Malik quickly nodded. "It's great," he choked out. "Sorry. I just- Isis makes this a lot and-" He sounded like a child with all of the crying. This was his fault. He fucking deserved it. Own the fuck up to it and  _stop crying._

Mehi took his free hand and gave it a squeeze, and Bakura reached over, touching the top of Malik's wrist – just above Ryou's hand.

Malik sniffed. "Sorry." He shook his head. "It's great. Thank you."

"It's okay." Mehi rubbed his hand with her thumb. The calloused skin had a similar effect to the hot water – all of their hands did.

Ryou waited for a beat. "Do you have anywhere else to stay after tonight?" He asked gently. "Are we just the closest, or-?" - _the only ones_.

Atem was gone. Susan too – she was a pain, but she would have put him up. But knowing Isis, she called the moment Malik left. She probably called everyone, if they hadn't already seen the article.

The only ones.

He shook his head. "I can find somewhere-"

"Hey, no that's not what I meant." Ryou gave him a smile as Malik met his gaze. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Okay?"

Malik hesitated, glancing between him, Mehi, and Bakura. When neither of the two contradicted Ryou, he returned the smile, and it felt a little less fake this time. "Okay. Thanks, honey."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so that was a relatively dark chapter but it picks up a little after this. Hope you enjoyed. Please review because otherwise I get nervous about it being shitty. See you next week.


	5. Chapter 05 | When

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's the new chapter.
> 
> CW: Hints towards Malik's father, familial victim blaming/gaslighting.

 

The next morning, Mehi did her best to be quiet. She crept out of the bedroom at ten to six, prayer mat under her arm. She tripped over a pair of shoes, but caught herself and yawned as she traipsed towards the kitchen. Summer was a bitch for the fajr.

She ran a hand through her hair, and it stuck up as though she had stuck her finger in an electrical socket. She hated when it did that.

She turned on the coffee pot as she rolled out her prayer mat and took a breath. Her eyes fell closed and she murmured verses from the Qur’an under her breath. “By the dawn and ten nights and the even and the odd-”

It was short – she never had the will to do a very long fajr. Not when her coffee was waiting. Once she had finished the two ra’kah, she rolled up her prayer mat and pulled open the cupboard, promptly smacking her forehead against the door.

She cursed and took down a mug, rubbing her head. Hopefully it wouldn’t bruise.

“You okay?”

She glanced up at the doorway and yanked a tea towel over her head as Malik walked into the kitchen. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Oh, sorry, I thought you had your shayla.” Malik quickly looked away from her.

Mehi shook her head. “It’s fine – not your fault.” She had half forgotten that he was there. “I’m just- I’ll just go get it. There’s coffee if you drink it.”

“Thanks.” He kept his head down until Mehi left the kitchen. She ducked into the bathroom and pulled off the towel. She glanced at her chin. Good. The electrolysis seemed to be working.

May as well actually shower while she was in the bathroom- nah, her coffee would get cold. She looped her shayla around her neck, crossed it, and pulled it over her hair.

When she got back to the kitchen, Malik was pouring coffee into a mug for her. “I wasn’t sure what you took in it-”

“Black is perfect.” She took the cup and drained half of it, ignoring the burn in her throat.

Malik raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his own coffee before grimacing at the heat. “Sorry about earlier.”

“You’re fine,” Mehi assured him. “I should have known you’d be up.”

Malik glanced down at his cup. One or two coffee grounds floated in the mixture. “I, uh… I wasn’t. I only woke up when I heard you hit your head.”

Mehi blinked a few times. “You don’t do the fajr?”

“I only did Friday prayer because Isis made me.” Malik shrugged.

Mehi nodded and took a smaller mouthful of coffee. “Do you still believe in Allah?”

After a moment, Malik glanced at her. “I think so. I mean, I don’t really believe that there’s nothing. But… I just can’t really pray anymore.”

“Because of Isis?”

He shook his head. “No, my-” His throat closed up. “It’s not really important.”

After a moment, Mehi nodded. “If you’re sure.” She finished off her coffee. “I need to go to the gym, but I’ll be back for breakfast. Feel free to steal a book or watch TV.”

Malik mumbled a quiet word of thanks but didn’t move until Mehi trudged towards the bathroom to get ready.

In fact, he didn’t move until ten minutes later when she emerged in her tracksuit and hijab, and left the apartment. He closed his eyes and slipped back onto the couch, still holding his empty cup.

He must have fallen asleep at some stage, even though he didn’t remember it, because one moment he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, it was bright, and Bakura was cooking. His heart was pounding and blood swam in the forefront of his mind, but all memory of the nightmare he must have had was gone within seconds.

Malik groaned and rubbed his face as he sat up. Bakura glanced back at him. “Hey. You can take the shower when Ryou’s done if you want.”

Malik staggered to his feet and walked to the kitchen. “I’m okay for the moment. I took one last night.”

“Well then you sweat a lot in your sleep because I can smell you from here – you’re taking the shower after him.” Bakura stirred whatever was in the pan.

Malik folded his arms. “What are you making?”

“Eggs, toast, protein shake for Mehi, bacon for Ryou.” Bakura glanced at him. “Anything there that you don’t eat?”

“I’m vegan,” he admitted.

“I can make porridge if you want?”

“Okay… Thanks…” He watched the other man fetch the bag of porridge mix from the press. “Why are you being so nice? Not that I’m complaining, but you’re an ass.”

Bakura scoffed. “Gee, thanks.” He flicked hair out of his eyes. “Well Ryou and Mehi aren’t making me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t until you said that.”

“I just think you’ve had enough assholes to deal with recently,” he continued, as though Malik had never spoken. “I don’t need to add to their shittiness.”

Malik snorted and leaned on the counter. “Thanks,” he mumbled, “but it’s kind of weird. You can stop.”

“You sure?” Malik nodded. “Thank God.” Bakura grinned and shoved the porridge at him. “Make your own damn breakfast.”

Malik rolled his eyes but grinned and poured some of the mixture into a bowl with almond milk. He set it in the microwave and turned it on for two minutes. “I’ll shower after breakfast.”

“At least slap on some deodorant or something.” Bakura wrinkled his nose.

“Oh come on – I’m not that bad.”

“Dude, you kind of are.”

Malik rolled his eyes but dug around in his bag until he found a can of  _Axe._  He made a show of spraying it, and even pulled on a fresh shirt. It kind of eased the uncomfortable heat under his old t-shirt anyway. He could never get accustomed to high summer temperatures. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” Bakura pulled his hair back into a ponytail and dumped four spoons of sugar into a mug, followed by half a cup of coffee, and filled the rest with milk.

Malik stared at the cup. “That’s an actual travesty.”

“Oh, trust me, I know.” Bakura shook his head and carried the cup to the bathroom. He reached the door just as Ryou emerged, rubbing his eyes, hair still damp.

Ryou took the cup and gave him a groggy smile. “Thanks, Bakura.” The other grunted and went back to cooking. Ryou wandered over to Malik. “Hey. Did you sleep okay?”

Malik nodded. “Yeah. Sorry I slept for so long.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Ryou shook his head and took a sip of the coffee. He grimaced and proceeded to add another spoon of sugar.

“Seriously, Ryou?” Bakura groaned.

“I don’t judge you when you cheat. Don’t judge my eating habits.” Ryou took another sip and smiled at Malik. “What do you want to do?”

Malik hesitated and shook his head. “I…”

“I’m cooking,” Bakura called back, “so whatever it is can wait until after breakfast.”

Malik’s shoulders dropped the tension he didn’t know they had been holding. That gave him a little time.

Ryou gave him a smile. “Bakura has a performance in a few days if you want to come and watch it. We always have a spare ticket.”

“Shut up, Ryou.”

Malik looked over at him. “You actually perform?”

Bakura huffed and began beating the eggs faster. “Yeah.”

“I thought you just… taught classes.”

He shook his head and turned on the pan, dropping some butter into it. “No. It’s only small so it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s  _Swan Lake_ ,” Ryou corrected, “in the War Memorial and Performing Arts Center.”

Malik’s eyes widened. “Holy  _shit,_ honey, that’s huge!”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d stop telling people.” Bakura glared down at the sizzling butter.

Ryou sighed and turned back to Malik. “He gets a little nervous,” he mumbled, “but he’s fantastic. Especially when he’s actually stuck to his diet for once in his life.”

“I can still hear you.” Bakura dumped the eggs into the pan. Malik glanced towards the microwave as it beeped three times, and fetched his bowl of porridge. He hissed as it burned his fingers, and was in the midst of taking it out with a tea towel when Mehi returned.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” She rolled her shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah, go change and get in here.” Bakura waved his spatula as he began scooping everything except the eggs into a large bowl, though he kept the bacon separate. “Ryou, would you butter toast?”

“Sure.” Ryou grabbed the toast as Malik spooned a tiny bit of maple syrup into his porridge.

He frowned at it for a moment before starting. “Shit, my phone.” He made his way over to the plug. On silent, fully charged, and ten missed calls, all from Rishid. “Shit.” Just as he turned his phone off silent, Rishid called again, his ringtone echoing through the apartment. He took a slow breath and answered. “Hey, 'akh.”

“ _Malik_.” Rishid sounded exhausted. “ _I’ve been trying to reach you all night – where are you?_ ”

“I’m… I’m just with some friends.” Malik slowly sank down the wall until he was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest. Ryou peeked out at him, but ducked back into the kitchen after a second. “Did Isis tell you-?”

“ _Yeah. Yeah, she did.”_  Rishid let out a slow breath. “ _Malik_ -”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“ _No, I know you didn’t. But you’ve put us both in an awkward position.”_

Malik chewed his lip. “I know.” Rishid didn’t respond. “What should I do?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” his brother sighed. “ _Just… Why now, Malik? You were so close.”_

Malik swallowed. “It needed to be said,” he muttered, “and I wasn’t going to let her say that about Mehi.”

“ _You know what she’s like-”_

“She still doesn’t get to say that,” Malik insisted.

Rishid just sighed again. He sounded even more tired now. “ _Okay.”_

Malik waited. Silence filled the line until he coughed. “What should I do, 'akh? Can- Can I come home?”

 _“I… Not right now, Malik.”_ His heart dropped into his stomach, eyes burning. “ _Isis needs some time.”_

“Well what am I meant to do?” He didn’t mean it to sound aggressive, but it was nothing short of a snap. “I can’t just stay here the whole time- that wouldn’t be fair on them-”

“ _I don’t know, Malik. I’m trying, but she’s stubborn and traditional. She needs time.”_

Malik squeezed his eyes shut. “I just want to see her again.”

“ _And you will,”_  Rishid promised, “ _but you need to wait until she wants to see you.”_

The tear came unbidden, falling down his cheek from a pool in his eye that he couldn’t quite get rid of. He squeezed them tighter, shoulders shaking.

“ _Malik? Malik, you know I-”_

The phone was snatched from Malik’s hand and he looked up as Bakura held it to his ear. “Fuck off,” the other snapped. “You’re supposed to be his family. If you aren’t going to fucking act like it, then you can piss the actual fuck off and leave him to have his breakfast in fucking peace.” He hung up without waiting for a reply and looked at Malik. “Too much?”

Malik dug his palm into his eye. “ _Fuck,_ ” he hissed, teeth grinding. Why was he like this? Why couldn't he just-

“Hey, it's okay. Don't- don't do that,” Mehi told him. He looked up to see both her and Ryou watching him. “They need to get their act together.”

“I guess.” Malik wiped his cheeks on his sleeve and pushed himself up. “Still.”

Ryou shook his head. “Still nothing.”

Bakura offered his hand. “Come on. Let’s go eat before it gets cold.” Malik hesitated, eyes flickering to Ryou and Mehi before he took the hand and allowed Bakura to lead him into the kitchen. “Besides, we already told you that you can stay as long as you need to.”

“Exactly,” Ryou agreed, sliding into his seat.

Malik managed a small smile as he sat down, the sweet scent of the porridge easing his tumbling stomach. “Thanks.” He took a bite and relaxed as everyone else began to eat as well. “So we’re all going to the show tonight, yeah?”

Bakura smacked his head against the table. “Okay, I will literally stab the next person to fucking say the word performance.”

Mehi smirked. “But that will have to be you, since you need to tell us where to go.”

“Nope. I could just let you all suffer.” Bakura smirked.

“How?”

“By not telling you where the parking is or where to get the tickets, so you can’t get into the performance- fuck.” He scowled. “Okay, Ryou, get me the knife. Mama didn’t raise a quitter.”

“Bakura, no.”

“Bakura yes.”

“But if you stab yourself, you can’t perform.” Malik grinned, swallowing a large mouthful of porridge.

Bakura glared at him. “Make it two knives.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I'll be doing a special update on Monday because of my birthday. See you then!


	6. Chapter 06 | I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's chapter six. I wanted to post today cause of my birthday and I honestly just really like posting things. Anyway here you go. This is a heavier chapter so take care.

******CW:** Physical violence, racial/islamophobic/transphobic slurs, attack

* * *

 

Malik ran a hand through his hair as he sent the article to his beta reader.  **The Sword Verse**. He had held off on posting it because of Isis, but now there was no reason to do so.

“Hey.” Mehi leaned over the couch. “Another article?”

Malik nodded slowly, flicking over it again, even though it was already sent. “Yeah. I had a good few that Isis wouldn’t want me to post so…” He shrugged.

“What’s this one about?”

“How as a religion, Islam needs to remove all references to killing the infidels and actually criticise extremist groups if we want to be seen as a modern religion.” Malik hesitated at Mehi’s silence. “Did I go a bit too far?”

Mehi hummed and sat beside him on the couch. “Here, let me have a look.” He passed the laptop over to her and she clicked into the article.

**Islam is portrayed by Western media to be a religion of terror, oppression, and violence, which is a fair assumption, given our track record. We have more world-recognised acts of religious violence than any of the five major world religions, which is bad enough, but we as a religion fail to condemn these acts - though it is important to note that many terrorist acts from other monotheistic religions are disregarded. However, this is also due to the removal of all references to the murder of infidels, and the condemning of these acts by the religious authorities of these religions.**

**A large part of this is due to passages such as the Sword Verse. Islam is the only major monotheistic religion that has still failed to remove parts in our religious text referencing killing the infidels. Now to assume that this is a literal meaning is to assume that all parts of the Qur’an are literal when it is known that Muhammad often spoke through metaphors. However, it is hard to consider this to be anything but a call to physical action against any non-Muslims.**

**We must remove these passages and publicly condemn extremist groups to be seen as anything other than a hateful, violence-ridden religion.**

Mehi pursed her lips as she read the rest of the article. “I can see why you waited to post it,” she said slowly. Malik nodded. “And I don’t disagree with your points, but I think you’re going about it the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?” Malik raised an eyebrow.

Mehi set the computer on the coffee table, crossing her legs. “I think you’ve taken a very outsider-ish view on the topic. You need to look at it both from within Islam and outside. Not just one or the other.” She looked at the screen and grimaced. “And calling Islam a violent and oppressive religion is really not the right way to go unless you want to get a bunch of right wing followers.” Malik chewed his lip. “You could also bring in parts of the Qur’an that condemn such violence from groups like Da'esh and say that by not condemning them, religious authorities aren’t acting in accordance with what the prophet wanted.”

“I guess so.” Malik shook his head. “I wanted to bring in the fact that we also voted to remove the part about the infidels and most Muslims wanted to keep it.”

Mehi frowned. “Okay, but was that a vote or a survey?”

“I can’t find it,” Malik admitted. “One of my professors brought it up last year, and I trust him, but I can’t find anything to back up his points so I thought it’d be better to leave it out.”

“Yeah, it probably was.” Mehi nodded. “Look, it’s not a bad article, but there are a lot of things in here that could let islamophobes justify their prejudice. Maybe just tweak that before you post it?” She paused. “You haven’t posted it, right?”

“Nah, I just sent it to my editor.”

“Oh, okay. Then yeah just edit it.” She shrugged.

Malik nodded and took the computer back. “Yeah, thanks.”

“You’re fine.” She smiled. “Do you want to come to prayer with me?”

Malik grimaced. “You know I don’t pray anymore.” He hadn’t in the week that he had been at their apartment anyway.

“I know, but I think you’ll like this place.” She nudged him. “I’ve had no issues since they realised I’m trans, and that happened before the article.”

Malik blinked a few times. “I thought you had been going stealth?”

“I had,” Mehi confirmed, “outside of the mosque. I started going there when I was still a teenager. There are people there who have known me since I was thirteen so they all know I’m trans.”

“Oh.” Malik licked his lips, finding them suddenly very dry. “And no issues?”

“None whatsoever.” Mehi did her best to give him a reassuring smile. “You don’t need to if you don’t want to, but from what you’ve told me, prayer was kind of ruined for you by your family. You didn’t stop because you wanted to.”

“Yes, I did.” Malik saved the article and shut down his laptop. He would edit the article further when his editor sent back the grammatical amendments. “I chose to stop because of what they were doing. I don’t want to be part of a religion that justifies that.”

“ _Your Lord has neither left you nor has he detested you_ ,” Mehi recited. “We… depend on the people who write the Qur’an to leave out any of their own biases and prejudices, but they were human too, and we all dislike something. Allah is not one to disown His own creations over them accepting who they are.”

Malik huffed out a breath. “I wish more people saw it like that.” He toyed with his earring as he amended his statement. “I wish  _I_ could actually see it like that.”

“Come with me today,” Mehi urged him. “The others are both doing things, so it would just be you alone in the apartment anyway.”

“I could use the time to write.” Malik shrugged, but they both knew he would just procrastinate by doing anything and everything  _other_  than writing. “Okay, fine.”

Mehi tried to smile again. “You don’t need to treat it like such a chore.”

“Yeah, well that’s what prayer became for me.” He pushed himself up off the couch. “Let me just grab a hoodie or something.” He didn’t like going into mosques in just a t-shirt. It felt rude. “Where is it anyway?”

“It’s only a twenty five minute walk,” Mehi called over to him Malik wrinkled his nose, wishing, not for the first time, that he had gone home to get his motorbike; that he could go home in general. “It’s not that bad.”

“You didn’t even see me!” Malik laughed, tugging a purple hoodie from his bag.

“I didn’t have to.” Mehi grinned and stood up as he pulled the hoodie on. “Come on; I meant to leave ten minutes ago but you delayed me.”

“Well you didn’t need to talk to me.” He gave her a wobbly grin and followed her outside.

She shook her head, leading him down the steps. “I know; shut up. Just don’t walk as slowly as you usually do.”

“Great.” Malik ran a hand through his hair as he sped up to match her pace. “I really need to get my bike.”

The mosque was on the second floor of a putrid green building over a graphic design shut, and was gated. There was probably a reason for that, but Malik wasn’t quite ready to lose even more of his little faith in humanity by asking what that reason was.

They slipped their shoes off at the stairs and continued to the second floor. Wudu took place in a small, darkened coatroom by the main room, and when they went in, the ceremony was already beginning.

They took their places towards the back and began.

 _He’s not your brother, and according to Allah, he never will be._ Malik took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He was fine. This was fine. He looked up at the imam. A short, round man with friendly brown eyes and black hair. Such a difference, in stature alone, to his father – broad and tall and firm.

This was fine. It was fine.

He glanced at Mehi and she gave him a smile. He found himself returning it before focusing on the prayer again.

It really was fine.

Even during the ra’kah, his spine didn’t crawl like he had grown used to in the past few years. The absence of it was comfortable, though somewhat disconcerting. But as he turned left and right, there was an undeniable smile tugging at his lips. “As-salāmu ‘alakyum wa rahmatu llāh.”

Once the prayer ended and everyone began to migrate downstairs, Mehi walked over to him again. “How was that?”

Malik ran a hand through his hair. “Really  _really_ good.”

“Yeah?” She smiled.

He nodded. “I didn’t actually think I’d feel this good after praying again.” He shook his head, running his hand through his hair. Everything felt light. “I just- Ah, I don’t even know.”

“Maybe it feels safer here?” Mehi suggested.

Malik chuckled. “Yeah, maybe.” It didn’t matter why – he felt  _good_.

Mehi glanced over his shoulder and nodded at someone behind him. “Hi, Jonathon.”

Malik turned to see a greying man behind him. The man grinned. “Afternoon, Mehi. You brought a friend without introducing me – I’m hurt.”

“We got in a bit late.” Mehi nudged Malik. “This one was a bit nervous about coming.”

Jonathon chuckled and nodded. “That’s fair.” He turned to Malik. “You’re the journalist friend, right? Malik Ishtar?”

Malik blinked a few times and nodded. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

"This is Jonathon," Mehi introduced. "He's a local sheikh. 

“I read your article on LGBT Muslims.” Jonathon smiled. “You had some really good stuff in there. I really liked how you drew comparisons between how they’re treated both by fellow Muslims and by non-Muslims.” Malik couldn’t help but stare at him. What was happening? “I sent it to a few of my friends. Really makes you think.” His smile only grew. “You didn’t get any trouble for it, did you?”

“Uh…” Was he being coy? Trying to get a reaction? Malik’s gaze flickered to Mehi. “A bit.”

Jonathon grimaced and shook his head. “I’ll never understand why some people reject our siblings that they see as slightly different.”

“Yeah…” Malik relaxed a bit. “Me neither.”

Jonathon smiled again and looked at Mehi. “I need to run – Huda’s getting out of hospital today.”

“Oh, she’s been discharged? That’s great.” Mehi reached into her jacket pocket. “Here, I got her a card.”

Jonathon chuckled as she struggled to pull the slightly too large card out of her pocket. “You need to invest in a handbag.”

Mehi shook her head and passed him the card. “Way too much effort. Here.”

“Thank you.” He tipped his hat to her. “I’ll see you next week.” He looked at Malik. “And I hope to see you then too. Will I?”

Malik didn’t even hesitate this time. “Absolutely.”

When Jonathon walked away, Mehi turned to him. “So I take it you’re feeling better here?” She smiled.

“I just-” Malik hesitated and shook his head. “It’s different here.”

Mehi nodded. “I get that.” She smiled and adjusted her hijab. “Come on – lets go get a coffee or something. I don’t want to go home just yet.”

Malik didn’t object and followed her downstairs to get their shoes. They were delayed by a few people who wanted to ask if this was The Malik Ishtar and talk to him about his article. Mehi’s smile only grew with every person, and as did the swell in Malik’s chest.

When they finally left, she was grinning from ear to ear. “Where do you want to go?”

Malik shook his head, pulling on his jacket. “I don’t mind. You know the area better than me.”

Mehi chewed her lip, zipping up her own coat. It was summer, but the wind was cool for the first time in months. “There’s a good one a few minutes away from the apartment. We can go there.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

They walked in silence for less than a block before Mehi grabbed his hand and sped up. “Don’t say anything.”

Malik caught himself before he could ask what she was doing. Move. Ask questions later.

He could hear the footsteps behind them now – rushing, uneven, and heavy. “Hey towelhead!” The voice was shrill and high, and made Malik wince. Mehi’s grip on his hand tightened and she sped up. “Hey, I’m talking to you!”

Fuck. What did he have to do? This had never happened before – not like this. Offhand comments or glares, yes. But not being chased down the street.

“I want to see your pretty fucking face after what I did to it!”

Mehi ground her teeth and sped up. “If he gets any closer, we run,” she hissed.

“So you’ll talk to your boyfriend but not me?” The person called. “Hey, Osama, do you know your girlfriend has a dick?”

Malik pulled free of Mehi’s grip and turned. Everything clever he had ever worked out in his head for situations like this died. “Leave us the fuck alone!”

“What’re you going to do if I don’t?” He was a boy, or looked it. He had no jaw or facial hair, and his pants hung lower than his boxers. Something silver gleamed on his belt. “Blow me up?” Mehi pulled Malik behind her and he stumbled. The boy laughed. “What, you need it to protect you?”

“I swear to fuck, if you don’t leave us alone-” Malik began, moving past Mehi.

The boy lunged forward and his fist slammed into Malik’s nose. His head snapped back and he staggered. The next punch was to his stomach, before his head even stopped ringing. His breath caught and he doubled over, coughing.

The boy grabbed him, nails digging through his jacket, but was ripped off him. “Fucking- What the fuck?” Mehi twisted the boy’s arm behind his back and slammed him up against the empty shop front. “Fucking freak- Let go!” He tried to kick her shin, but Mehi stamped on the back of his leg and pushed him down to his knees. He grunted as the rough wall skinned his cheek. “Does he know who you are?”

Mehi spat, “Fuck you.” She saw the sunlight glint on the blade and kicked it out of his free hand, twisting his captured arm back further. He shrieked, drawing the attention of onlookers that had been so conveniently hard of hearing when he had approached them. “Come near either of us again, and I’ll destroy you, just like in high school. Got it?” He ground his teeth, but squealed and nodded when she twisted his arm further. “Good.” She shoved him to the ground and kicked the knife into the drain.

When she looked over at Malik, he was sitting hunched over on the ground, head tilted back, still coughing for breath. His stomach ached, as if the boy’s fist had never left it.

“Fuck,” Mehi hissed. “Malik, can you hear me?” He groaned and nodded, forcing his eyes opened.

“Mehi- wait, behind-” His voice was tight and gave out, but she twisted in time to block the punch aimed her way. She pushed herself to her feet.

The boy spat at her.

“You really don’t learn, do you?” She snarled and punched him just like he had Malik; once in the face, once in the stomach, and once more in the face for good measure. When he hit the ground, she turned back to Malik. “Okay, Malik, do you think you can stand?”

“Probably,” he wheezed. Mehi gripped his hand and pulled him to his feet.

He stumbled into her, but she managed to catch him and wrap one of the man’s arms around her shoulders. “I know it hurts, but we need to get out of here,” she told him. “Do you think you can make it the rest of the way?”

His head was still ringing, but it was only a few minutes to the apartment, so he nodded. The boy was still on the ground, and everyone had left, not wanting to get involved. He tried to cover his nose, blood already dripping down his neck into his shirt. Mehi grimaced and searched her pockets, eventually pulling out a clean tissue. “Sorry.”

“Thanks.” Malik took it and used it to stem the bleeding as they walked, doing his best to keep his head tilted back. “Fuck, I’m an idiot.”

“You’re fine, Malik.”

“None of that would have happened if I hadn’t turned around.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Mehi shrugged, adjusting his arm slightly. “We all have our breaking points with shit like that.” She searched her pockets for the key as they neared the apartment and she let Malik go inside first. The stairs were a bit of a challenge, the elder of the two still dizzy and bleeding, but once they were inside, Mehi led him over to the couch. “Lie down, I’ll get you a wet towel.”

He nodded and dropped onto the couch with a small groan, pinching his nose. “Fuck,” he mumbled once Mehi wasn’t in earshot. It was his fault again. His fault. His fault.

“Hey.” He glanced up as Mehi returned. “This wasn't your fault.” She carefully draped the washcloth over his face. The cool, damp cloth eased his throbbing head a little. “You were the one who saw him coming at me anyway.”

“The second time.” Malik’s voice was somewhat muffled by the cloth, and in any other circumstance, it would have been amusing. “It was my fault you nearly got hurt.”

“But I didn’t.” Mehi squeezed his hand and they fell into silence for a moment. “This hasn't put you off going back, right?" Malik managed to shake his head. "That hasn’t happened to you before, has it?” Another shake of his head. Mehi sighed. “Did it bother you?”

“Yeah, of course. That shouldn’t happen to anyone.”

“I meant that it happened because you were with me.”

Malik sat up, dried blood still staining his skin. The washcloth fell into his lap, and Mehi opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “That didn’t happen because I was with you. It was because he’s a fucking racist, transphobic piece of shit.” Malik shook his head. “That’s on him. Not you. Regardless of why he did it.”

Mehi managed a small smile. “Thanks.”

“No, don’t thank me,” Malik protested. “It’s true. You being yourself is not a reason to be attacked.”

“Yeah. I know.” She sighed and leaned forward a little, her head resting against Malik’s shoulder. Her hijab was loose, and Malik hesitated before reaching up to fix it. She glanced up at him. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” His mouth felt dry and he could taste copper. He wasn’t quite sure if it was just from the punch, or if it was the voice in the back of his head, screaming at him to kiss her. But he didn’t want to kiss her.

Or at least, not just her.

She leaned in, and for a second, Malik almost considered closing the distance between them and just  _doing it_.

But then she pushed him back down onto the couch and covered his face with the cloth. “Stay lying down and keep that on your face. I’m going to get you some water.”

“Right.” He gave her a smile – or he smiled in general. He had no idea where she was anymore. “Thanks.”

“And stop talking! It could make your nose worse!”

“Okay, I’ve no idea where you read that but-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Please review and vote so I know you like it. My next update might be either on Friday or Sunday because I'll be travelling on Saturday, but see you then.


	7. Chapter 07 | Get

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. Sorry this is a touch late - I was travelling most of yesterday. But here you go!

**CW: Listening to people have sex without their knowledge, smut.**

* * *

He wanted to kiss them so badly. All of them. He had managed to keep the idea at bay – for the most part. But all of the tension that came with this built up to a peak and burst a few nights after he and Mehi had been attacked.

Malik just couldn't sleep. It happened sometimes, and he began writing instead of trying to force himself – he found doing that resulted in even less sleep than tiring himself out. A plaster still covered his nose, but it wasn't broken. It would be fine in a week or so.

"Fuck, Bakura-"

His eyes flickered towards the bedroom door, and then the clock. Half past one. Ryou was probably sleep talking again. He had a tendency to do that.

He turned back to his article and frowned. What was the right wording to finish it? He needed a clever line.

A muffled moan echoed through the door and Malik looked up again. Okay. Maybe not sleep talking.

"Shh."

"Fuck!"

Definitely not.

"Holy fuck, yes! Ah, please!"

He bit his lip as the image came to his mind unbidden; Ryou on top of Mehi, hair cascading down his back, as Bakura kissed them both in turn.

He squeezed his eyes shut and closed his laptop. He shouldn't be thinking about this. It was creepy.

"Mehi!"

Bakura was thrusting up into Ryou now, and Mehi biting the latter's neck.

Malik's tongue darted out over his lips. What was he doing? Fuck, his pants were getting too tight, but he didn't want to deal with the problem.

"Holy fuck- Bakura don't stop!" A pause. "Oh, you fucking tease-"

"Sh, Malik's asleep."

"God, I don't care!"

Exactly. He had to be asleep. He had to be _not listening to his roommates having sex_.

Despite knowing this, Malik's hand slipped down his pants and he began slowly toying with himself, fingers running up his cock. 

"Fuck me harder!"

He wrapped his hand around his dick and began stroking it in earnest, biting his lip to hold back a groan.

His head was spinning and he was half out of it with exhaustion.

An orchestra of expletives and groans burst from the room.

"Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, shit, fuck! Ryou!"

Malik ground his teeth together. His hand tightened and he snuck his free hand up his shirt, twisting his own nipples. 

"Fuck, Mehi, don't stop! Ah, I'm gonna- ah!"

Malik's hand sped up, unable to keep it slow anymore. His face burned as he climbed to the sound of the three, and he quickly pressed against his perineum to avoid making a mess.

His hips jerked up as he came, grinding against the air for a second before dropping down again.

He panted for breath, his chest suddenly heavy, and face burning from shame rather than pleasure. He grabbed a tissue from the box and wiped his hand on it just in case.

In the bedroom, their moans reached a peak and faded into silence. Malik's eyes snapped shut as the door opened and someone peeked out at him. He feigned a tiny snore and shifted onto his side, face pressed against the back of the couch.

Apparently satisfied, the door was closed again and Malik opened his eyes. Fuck. He was a creep.

He masturbated to his fucking roommates having sex. What the fuck? Who did that? No one – not outside of creepy cishet romance novels. And there was a reason he avoided them. They were creepy.

He sighed, eyes slipping closed, the energy in his body eradicated. There was one benefit at least. One amongst the mess of negative results that could come from it.

Including the next morning.

He woke with Mehi again and did his prayers with her, as he had been doing since Friday, but he mumbled everything under his breath, hardly looking at her.

She seemed too tired to ask about it, or even notice – it was one of her first days off in a while, so she stumbled back to bed once she was finished. Malik returned to the couch and a fitful sleep, waking again to the smell of pancakes and coffee.

He stayed on the couch for a few minutes, not quite in the mood for the self-induced awkwardness to come. When he finally dragged himself into the kitchen, it was Ryou cooking.

He glanced back at Malik with a smile. "Morning. Did you sleep okay?" He seemed a little anxious. He usually waited for Malik to greet him before asking anything.

Malik plastered a smile across his face. "Yeah. Slept like a log."

Ryou relaxed and turned back to the pan. "I hope these are okay. I can do something else if you want."

Yeah, a kiss would be great. Oh, and a bit of forgiveness for the previous night. Thanks, Ryou. "No, pancakes are perfect. Do you want me to make Mehi's protein shake?"

"Yeah, please." Ryou nodded. "Today's her cheat day, but if she doesn't drink it now, she'll feel guilty and won't have what she wants for dinner."

Malik blinked but grabbed one of the protein packets. An odd way to phrase it since they usually all ate together, and had to compromise on what to cook or order. "That's fair. Is it Bakura's cheat day too?"

"Every day is his cheat day. He never sticks to his diet," Ryou snorted, scooping a pancake onto a plate. "But yeah. It's his birthday today."

Malik nearly dropped the glass. "Oh, fuck, I never got him anything."

"Don't worry – he'll love that," Ryou assured him. "Mainly because he'll be able to lord it over you for a while." Malik sighed and dumped the protein powder into the glass. "But we're all going out for dinner tonight to one of his favourite restaurants. Do you want to come?"

Malik glanced up at him. "I thought- don't you three just want to be alone for a bit? I mean, I can find somewhere else to stay for the night, or-"

"No, Malik." Ryou abandoned the pancakes and reached over, taking his hands. "We want you there with us. All of us." He smiled. "If you want to come that is."

Malik hesitated. Fuck. Last night was bad. It could get so much worse if he did this. But he really did want to go. Ryou was still looking at him, so Malik smiled. "Okay, but you'll need to make up some excuse for why I'm missing for the day. I need to get him a present if I'm going to go to his birthday."

"He and Mehi are going to go to a film I think." Ryou shook his head. "I'm not a fan of romance and that's Bakura's favourite. So I'll come with you."

Malik's face was burning. "You're sure?"

"Of course!" Ryou grinned. "Let me just finish breakfast and get ready. We'll go when they leave."

This turned out to be over an hour later due to Ryou's hair taking ages to dry and Bakura just being a lazy asshole – as Malik fucking told him – but it helped Malik relax. It wasn't awkward. Nothing had really changed; probably because none of them knew, but that wasn't really the matter at hand.

Malik ended up booking an appointment to bleach his hair for that day too. He didn't want to go to a good restaurant with his roots showing.

Ryou tried to get Bakura to do the same, but the latter just flipped him off as he walked outside.

Once Malik's hair was dyed and Ryou got a trim, they both went looking for a good present.

"You're better at this than me," Malik sighed. "I don't know what to get him."

Ryou shrugged. "Just get him something dance-y."

Malik shook his head. Bakura's entire day often revolved around dancing. He wanted to get him something he could enjoy without it being work-related. "No. What about a video game?"

Ryou grimaced. "That can get pretty expensive, and you're already paying for dinner."

"Okay. Okay." Malik ran a hand through his hair. It still had that fresh just-been-cut feel. "What about… a pun? On a t-shirt?"

"Okay, if you can find one, that would absolutely be his favourite thing." Ryou grinned.

Malik matched his grin and pointed to the small stand on the sidewalk behind the other. "What about that one?"

Ryou turned and his eyes lit up. "Fuck yes."

Once they bought the t-shirt, they rushed back to the apartment to get changed and meet the others at the restaurant. Ryou ended up wearing a garish teal and purple jacket with purple pants, but somehow, he pulled it off. Especially with his hair down.

Malik went with something a little more classy to match the restaurant atmosphere – his usual earrings and necklace, a black shirt with a red collar and cuffs, and black pants.

They took the bus and ended up a few minutes late – which Bakura lorded over them as they sat down.

"You don't get to talk," Ryou huffed. "I'm surprised you're on time."

"Actually, I do get to talk." Bakura winked. "It's my birthday. I can do what I want." Mehi had come prepared to play the Hot As Fuck game.

Rather than her shayla, Mehi wore her hair pinned up beneath a dusty red headwrap. Her jacket matched the headpiece, and she wore a grey top, and a flowing red skirt that reached just above her ankles with fire patterns on it. Silver earrings dangled from her lobes, and she had abandoned her usual trainers for a pair of heels.

Bakura was just… Bakura. He had entirely ignored the dress code and had chosen a leather jacket, jeans, and a t-shirt that read, **Yes I do ballet; that means I have the physical capability to strangle you with my feet**. He had touched up his hair a bit though, which made Ryou grin and ruffle it as they sat down. "One day I'll find a way to force you into a shirt."

"No you won't," Bakura snorted, not even looking up from the list of cocktails. "Hey, they have one called Good Criminal. I really want that."

"Get whatever you want, honey." Malik grinned. "Dinner's on me tonight."

Mehi glanced at him and raised an eyebrow, but Bakura was the one to voice his concerns. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I got paid for those articles yesterday."

"Okay." Bakura grinned. "But this doesn't mean you get out of giving me a birthday present."

Mehi shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You're actually the worst. He's buying you dinner. That's more than I did."

"Yeah, but dinner isn't a present."

"How about dinner and a small present?" Malik's lip tugged up in a smirk. "But only after we order."

"Deal." Bakura reached over and shook Malik's hand.

Once they had ordered – Bakura naturally choosing the largest steak on the menu as blue as it could come – he looked between them with an almost childish grin. "So…"

"Oh my God, here," Ryou laughed, passing Bakura a small wrapped box. The other quickly tore it open to find a gorgeous new pair of satin en pointe shoes. "I thought you could use them for your dance practice videos and stuff."

Bakura grinned as he turned them over. A big **FUCK YOU** stared up at him in white thread, stitched into the heel. "Thanks, Ry." He leaned over and kissed the other's cheek.

Malik elbowed him as Bakura turned to Mehi. "You just wanted me to coordinate with you."

Ryou smirked. "Yeah, maybe. But I like your idea better."

Malik glanced at Bakura as he opened the box – a Pop figure of one of his favourite video game characters signed by the voice actor. "Holy shit, Mehi."

She shrugged, smiling. "You didn't get to meet him that time because you were performing so I figured you should get to have his signature on something."

Bakura wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "Thank you." He knew she didn't like too much affection in public.

Despite all his demands for presents, he looked flushed and flustered and tried to hide it by pushing the wrapping paper under the table, but he kept the two presents in his lap.

After a moment, he turned to Malik. "Okay, your turn."

Malik grimaced and passed him a small gift bag. "Sorry I didn't have time to wrap it."

"As long as there's a present in here, you're fine-" Bakura pulled out the t-shirt and stared at it, an almost painful grin stretching across his face. "Yes." It wasn't anything fancy, but printed across the plain black shirt was **eating ass is the only ethical consumption under capitalism**. "Fuck yes. This is my new favourite t-shirt."

"Really?" Malik's neck itched and he blamed it on his haircut.

"Yes!" Bakura folded it and placed it in his lap as well.

Ryou gasped. "He folded it. Malik, he really does like it."

"Oh shut up," Bakura snorted. He rounded the table and gave Malik a small but tight hug. "I fucking love y- it. Thank you."

"No problem, honey," Malik chuckled, returning the hug. His chest tightened. This was it. This was the closest he would get without telling them. He would. He'd tell them. He glanced around the table. Tomorrow. He'd tell them tomorrow. That evening was about Bakura. He squeezed the dancer's arm. "Now go sit down again – I think those are our starters."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof okay so please never ever do what Malik did, and actually talk to people. That was NOT okay for him to do. Anyway, please review. See you on Saturday with an unplanned chapter so they get a bit of a break from the angst!


	8. Chapter 08 | To

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Back again for more of the feelsy mess here. This is the first chapter that wasn't in the original plan so I hope you like it. There are eight paragraphs more than I had initially planned now. Hope y'all enjoy!

**CW: Homophobia, slurs (f*g), hints at racism.**

* * *

Malik adjusted his sleeves, buttoning and unbuttoning and re-buttoning the cuffs. “Are you okay?” Ryou asked, nudging him.

He nodded, repeating the action. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He glanced up the bus. A boy stood at the front in a full suit. His hair was long, pulled up in dreadlocks and swept back in a ponytail, a mix of black and dyed magenta. He turned to glance around, but Malik ducked his head, and his crimson eyes passed right over him.

Ryou frowned as Malik shifted over to another seat so he was hidden by the person in front, leaving a space between them. Ryou moved with him to the next seat. “You’re clearly not.”

“I am. Fine, I mean. I’m fine.” Malik clasped his hands in his lap, shoulders hunching. His tux was probably creasing at his back but he couldn’t bring himself to sit up again. Fuck, why had he bleached his hair again? He should have dyed it dark so he wouldn’t be recognised. Mehi was beginning to notice too. She twisted in her seat to look at him, though she didn’t ask him if he was alright. “How many more stops?”

“One, and then we’re walking for a few minutes.”

Malik nodded. They weren’t going the same direction. They couldn’t be. Even if they were both wearing suits, Atem would never be seen dead at a ballet. But when the bus stopped, he got off.

Malik stuffed his hands into his pockets and followed Ryou and Mehi up to the top of the bus with his head down. It took them a minute to get off - Mehi was wearing a floaty ankle-length dress with heels, and the path was cobbled. The driver snapped the doors shut once they were off and pulled away from the stop.

Malik glanced up and down the street, but Atem was gone. Good. He wasn’t going. He couldn’t have been. Mehi elbowed him. “Give me your arm. I need help with balance.” Malik tried to smile and held out his arm, bent in a typical ‘m’lady’ fashion. She chuckled and shook her head as Ryou did the same, but took their arms anyway. “I don’t know why I put up with you two.”

“Because you secretly love it,” Ryou decided. All three sets of shoes clicked on the path. Ryou reached into the pocket of his suit as they reached the theater and handed their tickets to the receptionist.

Once they were waved through, they hurried to their seats. All three were in a line, side-by-side, close to the front. Even Malik wouldn’t have been able to afford tickets that good, but Bakura had managed to hook them up with four. He wasn’t sure why they needed a spare, but he didn’t question it.

The room went dark seconds after they sat down, and the curtain rose with the music. On stage, a brown haired Odette danced in a simple blue leotard alone, eyes half closed as though she were unaware of the five hundred people watching her every movement.

She was graceful, arching, like the swan she became. The dance was different to what Malik knew - he supposed the sudio had revamped it to make it stand out a little more. Whatever they had done, it entranced him, and drove all worry about Atem out of his head.

When Bakura came out in all black and grey, the music thundered around them. He had been cast as the villain of the dance - he had insisted that it was the only part they could have given him with the scar on his cheek. It didn’t matter that none of the ‘good’ characters were people of colour from what Malik could see.

Regardless of intent, he was perfect for the role. He danced with more awareness than Odette, and Malik could tell from his movements that he knew full well how many people were watching him, but it only added to his character. Each step was sharp, each twirl and jump short and concise, everything about him portraying that he wanted nothing more than to sort things out so he could finally be happy.

Of course, it didn’t work out that way. His dance grew more wild and erratic after the break, slightly less militial and more like a mad king, and by the end, it looked almost improvised. Odette moved with the same practiced precision as she had at the start, but Bakura made it look like he was dancing this dance for the first time in his life.

Malik swiped at his eyes as the curtain fell and stood with Mehi and Ryou to clap. Most of the room behind them stood as well as the dancers came out to bow.

Downstairs, when Bakura finally emerged in his usual hoodie and jeans, Ryou ran up and threw his arms around him. “God, Bakura, that was fantastic!”

“Yeah?” Bakura was grinning, but he seemed shaky. Maybe nerves?

“Absolutely!” Ryou nodded, giving him a squeeze before pulling back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get that into character before.”

“Yeah, well it was a bigger part than I’m used to.” Bakura rubbed the back of his neck. Yeah, definitely nerves.

“You pulled it off,” Mehi assured him. She held a small bouquet of red tulips and passed it to him. His face lit up and he tried to hide it by covering his face with the bouquet.

Malik laughed, but it died in his throat as he saw Odette run out down the stairs and into the waiting arms of Atem. He pressed their lips together and presented her with a gorgeous bouquet of white orchids. Up close, Malik could see she wasn’t American. Not fully anyway. Her skin had a darker tint to it, and her eyes were large and almond shaped. He wanted to guess Japanese, but didn’t want to generalise.

“Do you know him?” Ryou murmured. Malik started and glanced back to see all three of them watching him.

“I…” He looked at Atem again. “Yeah. Yeah, he went to my old masjid-" Atem hated the word 'mosque' - he claimed it was the west trying to stake their claim on Islam. "-or the one before the last- just- I know him. Yeah.” Stay away from me, fag-lover. “We didn’t part on the best of terms.”

At that moment, Atem looked up and their eyes caught. Malik stiffened, and his old friend looked uncomfortable for a second. He mumbled something to his girlfriend before leading her over. “Malik.” His voice was guarded.

“Atem.” Malik gave him a small nod. “Come to enjoy the show?”

Atem’s lips pursed into a smile. “Yeah. I came to see Anzu.” His arm wound around his girlfriend’s waist. Definitely part Japanese. “What about you?”

“We all came to see Bakura.” Malik cleared his throat. “Um, this is Mehi and Ryou.”

Atem gave them a tight smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” It took Ryou a moment to say it. Mehi didn’t even bother to reply.

“So…” Atem’s throat tightened as he swallowed. “You’ve been doing well? I haven’t seen you around.”

Malik tried to stamp down the rage bubbling to the tip of his tongue, but that damn passive smile and the relaxed shoulders were only adding to his irritation. “Yes, it’s hard to go to the same places as your family when you’ve been kicked out.”

Anzu shifted but Atem’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I guess it would be.”

“It is,” Malik assured him. He glanced up at the clock. “Well I suppose you should get going before you’re late.”

“We’re actually going out to dinner,” Anzu piped up. “Would you like to join us? It’s just a little bit down the road.”

“No, I don’t think so.” This was Bakura’s night. Don’t do it. He forced a small smile as he looked at her. “But thanks for the invitation.”

Her smile looked more than a little relieved and she relaxed. “It’s no problem.” She looked at Atem. “I’ll just go and change quickly. Meet you outside?”

“Sure.” Atem smiled and kissed her cheek.

Malik fought the urge to gag. Bakura took his hand and gave it a squeeze. He took a slow breath. “It was good seeing you again, Atem. Have a good night.” He turned on his heel, making a break for the door.

The others hurried after him. “What was that about?”

Malik shook his head. Get outside. Get outside. He didn’t reply until the cool air was on his face, and his shoulders slumped. The door shut behind them. “Nothing,” he whispered. “It was nothing.”

The door swung open and grated against the thinly carpeted stone. “Malik!” He tensed and twisted to see Atem emerging from the theater. He was frowning now. The attempt at civility had obviously been a show for Anzu. Malik swallowed and tried to respond, but nothing came out of his mouth as Atem neared him. He let out a slow breath and stopped a foot away from him. “Look… you won’t be talking to your sister right?” He shook his head. “What I mean to say is… you wouldn’t tell her about Anzu?” Malik frowned. “Because she and my mother are friends, and you know how my mother is about dating non-Muslims and-”

Malik laughed. Actually laughed. The sound made Atem stop in his tracks. “So  _now_ you want my help? After you denied me one night of somewhere to sleep and called me a- what was it?”

Atem grimaced. “You don’t have to-”

“Oh that’s right! A fag-lover.” Malik glared at him. “Go have dinner with your girlfriend Atem. Just because you have all the morality of a politician doesn’t mean you rubbed off on me. I have no intention of telling my sister about your dating life.”

Atem rolled his eyes. “Ah yes, coming from you - the  _champion_ of morality,” he hissed. His eyes were sparking like hot coal.

“Don’t preach to me when you’re cherry picking from the Qur’an yourself.” Malik’s fists clenched and unclenched. His nails dug into the palms of his hands, deeper, deeper. “So you believe the earth is egg-shaped? Or that… that women are half the worth of men and are our property? Or that you shouldn’t be able to date Anzu?” Atem scoffed. “No, you wanted to follow the Qur’an word for word in terms of being LGBT, so why won’t you do the same for the rest?” He reached forward and caught the gold chain around Atem’s neck. “Is this gold? You know men are forbidden to wear that, right?”

Atem yanked away from him. “What the  _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

“Swearing!” Malik laughed. “ _Also_ haraam! It’s like you didn’t even read the parts of the Qur’an that don’t directly benefit you!”

“Allah won’t care if I wear gold, or dated a non-Muslim woman, or swore once or twice,” Atem insisted. “That doesn’t lead to a life of punishment.”

“But loving another gender does?” Malik shook his head. His nails were cutting into his skin. “Don’t… don’t come to me preaching about morality when you ignore anything that doesn’t suit you,  _munafiq_.”

Atem shook his head and turned towards the theater. “Fucking fag. You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

“Hey,” Ryou called. Atem glanced at him and Malik’s stomach twisted. The man’s brown eyes were ablaze, entire body tense. Mehi looked like she was ready to body slam Atem. Bakura looked calm, but his eyes were also fixed on Atem with an intensity to strong to be passive. But Ryou- Ryou glared at him with all the fury of a thousand suns. “Talk that way about him one more time and I think you’ll find yourself worrying less about how he’ll fare in the next life and more about how you’ll survive this one.”

“What did you just say to me?” Atem spat, taking a step towards them.

Mehi stepped in front of Ryou and Malik, but it was Bakura that spoke. “You know, Anzu’s probably waiting for you. If you want, I can go in and chat to her for a bit. Keep her entertained.” He shrugged. “But I’m not sure how much she likes homophobes. Should we find out?”

Atem’s glare deepened for a moment before he huffed and stormed back inside. Bakura gave Malik’s hand another squeeze and Ryou touched his arm. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft again.

Malik slowly nodded. “I’m… actually fine.” He mightn’t have been earlier, with fear rushing through every vein in his body at the sight of Atem, but now he felt… good. Better than good.

“Okay.” Bakura released his hand. “Come on - let’s go get take out.”

Mehi rolled her eyes. “Bakura, you have another show tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.”

“So we can get Thai,” Bakura bargained. “I want to eat out tonight.”

Ryou sighed but smiled. “Okay, I suppose you deserve it after that show.”

“Bingo.” Bakura shot him with a finger. “Let’s go.” He began walking without waiting for them, though they quickly caught up and settled into a pace. After a few minutes, Bakura slowed a little to walk beside Malik. “Hey.” Malik glanced at him. “I’m proud of you. What you did back there was pretty badass.”

“You mean almost having a panic attack and screaming nonsense outside your workplace?” Malik snorted.

Bakura slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned his head back. “You know exactly what I meant. You standing up to him even though he was your friend - although how you put up with that asshole is beyond me.”

Malik snorted. “It was kind of difficult.” They walked in silence for a moment. “Will Anzu be alright with him?”

“Yeah.” Bakura nodded. “For tonight anyway. I’ll tell her what happened tomorrow, but she deserves a nice opening night.”

“Okay.” Malik looked down at the footpath. He was almost fascinated by the way the cracked bricks passed under his feet. “You were fantastic by the way.” Bakura glanced at him. “I’ve never seen anyone dance like that. You made me want you to actually win.”

Bakura laughed. “Now imagine if I was a politician. I’d just dance, get everyone to root for me, and take over the Whitehouse from the inside.”

“No, seriously.” Malik looked up at him. “Thanks for giving me that ticket.”

Bakura just leaned in and butted his shoulder with his forehead. “You can thank me by buying me egg fried rice.” He paused. “But thanks.”

Malik gave him a smile, and it made him feel better after the encounter with Atem, as though a twenty-four hour bug had miraculously abandoned his system. “I’m proud of you.”

“Okay, you can stop now.”

“But I am.”

“Still, don’t.”

Malik almost kissed the top of his head. It could have been seen as platonic - Bakura was like a cat; he didn’t really have physical boundaries unless he was eating. But he managed to stop himself. “Well it’s true.”

Bakura ducked his head. When Malik next looked at him, his hood was up, but his cheeks looked darker than usual. “Shut up already,” he grumbled. “Making me feel like a good person and all that. I’m a soldier of darkness. I’m meant to be feared.”

“Sure you are, honey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I changed where Bakura was working to an actual theater in San Francisco so hopefully that's okay. Anyway, I'll see you next week.


	9. Chapter 09 | See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So we have an early update this week because of my results and I wanted to celebrate. Basically, in Ireland, we have the Leaving Certificate which determines whether or not we get into college. Courses give out a certain number of points, and if you get more than the points they state, you can get in. Points are based off your grades; if you get a H1, you get 100 points, if you get a H2, you get 88 points, and so on down to H8, where you get 0 points. Six subjects count towards it, so you have a maximum of 625 points (if you do Higher Level Maths and get over a H5, you get 25 extra points). Last year, you needed 420 points to get onto the course I want to do (creative writing BA), and I just got my results. I got a H3 in Home Economics, Business Studies, History, and French at 77 points each, and a H4 in English and Irish at 66 points each. I also got a distinction in LCVP at 66 points. I'm planning on having my English paper re-checked so that might go up but I got 440 points. I also applied for performative points, where you send in a portfolio of your work and if you're chosen, you can get 40 points, and I got that, so I got 480 points in total. I'm honestly delighted with it because I was so scared that I wouldn't get in and would have to repeat the year. So because of good results, I'm celebrating with an early update! This chapter is relatively fluffy so I hope you enjoy! Beware, it's un-betaed because I sent it in late and didn't want to badger Riley today because it's also her results day. Anyway, enjoy!

**CW:**  Slight abandonment, injured animal, scratching, anxiety and mental healthy issues

* * *

Malik hummed as he typed. He wasn’t on an article at the moment - just writing an email to a friend he had made at Mehi’s mosque. Or… their mosque now, he supposed. He had gone twice now and had no intentions of stopping. Ryou was slaving over his last day of study before his final exam and was practically reduced to tears by his book earlier; hence why Malik and Mehi had started working with him on their own things. It helped him focus.

Ryou ran a hand through his hair and tugged it. “Okay… Okay, I think I know this.”

“Yeah?” Mehi looked up from the work out regime she was drawing up for one of her clients. “Need one of us to test you on it?”

“I’ll do it.” Malik set aside his computer. Mehi was actually working, so it made more sense. She nodded and ducked back down to look at the paper as he took Ryou’s book. “What am I testing you on?”

Ryou sighed. “The same shit as earlier.” 

Malik tried not to smile. Ryou had completely lost all sense of formality since his last few days of study had start it, and Malik couldn’t help but find it amusing when the former had refused to swear around him prior to that. “Right. Give me all of the quotes that you can remember.”

“Which act?” Ryou pressed. He needed the specifics, and Malik kept forgetting. Without the specifics, he floundered. 

“Act One.”

Ryou launched into his memorised monologue of quotes that he had probably picked at random. His brow was furrowed and he kept reaching up to rub his forehead when he paused. They had convinced him to take off his binder earlier when he had been struggling to breathe through tears of frustration, and now he was wearing a sports bra under a baggy t-shirt and a baggy sweater. Even still, he had sat hunched over and tugged at his clothes for half an hour before easing into it. He was breathing easier now, and Malik hadn’t seen him wince in an hour.

“You got it.” Malik shook his head as Ryou finished. Ryou reached for the book. “I think you’re done for the moment, honey.”

Ryou took his book back. “No, I need to write out a notes sheet and then a flashcard for before the exam. It’ll help me remember it more.”

Mehi closed her notebook. “Ry, I’m proud of you, but Malik’s right. You need a break. Even just twenty minutes.”

“I’m fine.” Ryou picked up his pen. “Look, if I keep going, I can get this out of the fucking way and relax for the end of the evening. It’ll be harder  to get back into it if I stop.” 

“I know, but it’s been nearly three hours.” Malik put his hand over Ryou’s page. “Please, honey. An episode of One Day At A Time or something. Then you can go back to it.” 

Ryou just shook his head. “This shouldn’t take more than an hour. Then I’ll stop for the night and cook-”

“I’ll cook tonight.” Malik stood up. “You just get that done.”

Ryou gave him a grateful smile and turned back to his notebook. He was already writing out the thirty seven quotes that he needed for his test. Malik sighed and made his way into the kitchen, pulling out some quorn beef and taco shells. He turned on the oven and began slicing vegetables as it heated. When he put the taco shells in, he fried up the quorn, followed by the vegetables. He would leave the sauce on the side in bowls - Bakura couldn’t eat sauce. He pulled the shells out, dished the vegetables and quorn into a large bowl, and placed them on the table, followed by smaller bowls of diced lettuce, tomatoes, and sauces.

He ducked back into the room. Bakura wasn’t back yet, but he could eat whatever was left in a sandwich if he was too late. “Dinner’s ready.” Ryou was still writing. “It’s been over an hour, honey. Come on.”

“One sec…” Ryou stabbed a full stop onto the page. “Done. Can one of you test me on this before dinner?”

“No, Ryou, it’s on the table,” Mehi protested, closing her notebook. “We’ll test you after dinner.”

“But if you do it now, I can take my break, look over it again after dinner, and get you to test me again,” Ryou bargained. “Come on - please. I need to know this.” 

Things that are in motion stay in motion unless acted on by another force. Malik had hoped that force would be a hot meal, but it turned out to be Bakura shouldering the door open with tears running down his cheeks. He had one arm inside the body of his jacket, and the other holding the body closed. “I-I-I couldn’t leave it, and it was just- it was just there an-and I- it could have died-” Ryou ran over to Bakura and tried to wrap his arms around him, but Bakura shook his head and pulled away. “No, you- you could scare it and-”

Malik closed the door gently. 

“Bakura?” Mehi’s voice was calm and seemed to ground him a little. He looked up at her, eyes shiny and still watering. “What are you talking about?”

Bakura sniffed and opened his jacket. Inside was a small fabric shopping bag with a kitten’s head poking out. Malik stared at it. “It was- it was behind the dumpster outside the theatre- it’s leg’s h-hurt, and I didn’t- it could have died in the heat-”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Ryou soothed. He reached up and ran his fingers through Bakura’s hair. “It’s okay.”

Bakura shook his head and stumbled over to the couch. He gently set the kitten down. It looked up at them with bright blue eyes. Its coat was matted and brown with mud, but around its eyes were circles of golden fur. 

“We need to ring the landlord,” Mehi murmured, crouching down. She waited until the kitten looked at her before blinking very, very slowly. When her eyes were open again, she reached out her hand and let the cat sniff it. “I think our lease said she’s fine with cats, but we need to double check.” 

“What for?” Malik frowned. When the cat stopped sniffing Mehi’s hand, she tickled under its chin.

“Well if we’re going to keep it-”

“What? No we- we can’t just-” Bakura shook his head. “It could have an owner- or- or-”

Malik knelt down in front of Bakura and took the latter’s hands in his. “Bakura, you need to breathe. Okay? Just look at me and breathe.” Bakura met his gaze, but his breath was still coming out in rough heaves. “Deep breaths, honey. With me, okay? In, two, three…” Bakura held his breath. “And out, two, three, four, five.” They repeated the pattern a few times until Bakura’s breath evened out. “Now try again.”

Bakura took one more deep breath. “We can’t keep it - its owner could be worried about it, or-” He shook his head. “We need to get the chip read and-” 

“It’s okay,” Ryou soothed. “We can give the poor thing some food while we eat and drive it up to the emergency vet later on. If it has a chip, we’ll bring it home. Okay?” 

Bakura reluctantly nodded. Mehi scratched the kitten behind its ears. “We can’t just leave it if it’s not chipped though.”

“But some people just don’t chip them and-” Bakura’s breath was speeding up again. 

“We’ll put up posters for a while,” Ryou assured him, “all around the area you found it in. Now let’s get some food.” Now that he was preoccupied with Bakura, studying was the last thing on his mind.

“Should we wash it?” Malik asked. It seemed to find it hard to move in the mud. 

Mehi shook her head. “It might not like being picked up.”

“Still…” Malik pursed his lips. He didn’t like to leave the kitten uncomfortable.

Ryou disappeared into the kitchen as Mehi looked up at him. “I’ve been around cats for most of my life - trust me. It’s fine; we just need to bring it to the vet later.”

Bakura was the one to nod. He was hunched over, small, with tear tracks still staining his cheeks though he had stopped crying. “Alright.”

The kitten looked up as Ryou returned with two small bowls and mewled. Ryou smiled and set them down on the floor - a bowl of water and one of cut up pieces of boiled ham. The kitten paused, examining the floor, before jumping down. It landed on three legs but walked over on four. Mehi frowned. “Something’s definitely wrong with its leg,” she mumbled, bringing up her thumb to chew on.

“We’ll sort it out later.” Ryou had become the voice of reason. “Let’s eat.”

Despite wanting to be calm about the kitten in the living room, everyone bolted their food, focusing more on getting it down so they could get the cat to the vet. Malik shoved the dishes into the dishwasher as Mehi tried to coax the cat into a bag. By the time he was done, she was still unsuccessful. 

“It might be its leg,” Ryou suggested, holding the bag open wider.

Mehi hummed. She placed her hand on the cat’s head and ran it down its back. Once she got a little past the cat’s mid-back, it hissed and swiped at her, just scratching her as she yanked back. She grunted in pain and Malik flinched.

Bakura scrambled to the press as Mehi reached out again and touched the cat’s back right leg. Nothing. She held her breath and reached for the left leg as Bakura returned with a green box. Before she could even touch it, the kitten lunged at her arm and dug its claws in. Mehi gritted her teeth and pulled her arm back. The action successfully dislodged the claws, but led to a long scratch down her forearm.

“Shit.” Malik grabbed the first aid kit off Bakura and pulled out antiseptic wipes. “Bakura, get the cat in the bag.”

“I’m fine,” Mehi insisted, though she winced as Malik wiped the wound. “Here, just give it to me, I’ll do it.”

“You won’t be able to bandage it alone,” Malik protested. He picked up the roll and wound the cloth around Mehi’s arm. Once he was done, he fasted it with two of the small clasps. 

As he did, Bakura managed to nudge the kitten into the bag. Ryou zipped it mostly closed and quickly pulled his hand back in case the cat swiped at it, but it just pressed its face up against the small gap and mewed.

“Let’s go.” Mehi stood up and shook out her hand. “Hopefully they’re free.”

They took the bus - they had no other option. The Rice Molly DVM was the only one that they all knew for certain was close and open, and that was a twenty minute ride. The whole time, Malik wasn’t sure who to fret most over - Mehi, Bakura, the cat, or Ryou, who was surprisingly calm about the whole situation.

When the four stumbled into the waiting room, it was already eight at night. The receptionist looked up. “Hi, can I-?” The cat finally succeeded in pressing its face out of the bag and poked its head up.

“We found the cat outside the War Memorial and Performing Arts Centre,” Mehi replied as Ryou gently took the bag off his shoulder. “It’s got a collar but it looks too tight, and its leg is hurt. You can’t touch its left leg or past the middle of its back, or it’ll react badly because it’s hurt. We need to check if she’s chipped too.”

The receptionist nodded and took the bag from Ryou. “Alright, the vet’s just out of surgery so I’ll get her to take a look. You can take a seat and we’ll bring her back out to you.”

Bakura slumped into one of the hard plastic chairs, and Ryou sat with him, holding his hand and murmuring soft assurances. Malik had half a mind to follow them, but instead, wandered over to the vending machine with Mehi. “Why did you touch the cat like that?” He asked as she gave the machine a few dollars. 

She shrugged. “To find out where it didn’t want to be touched. I knew it’d scratch, but if they didn’t know and it scratched them, they could assume that it was feral and put it down.” The water that she selected clanked down into the tray. Most vets wouldn't do that, but Mehi sounded like she was speaking from experience.

Malik stared at her as she took it out. They wouldn’t, rested on his tongue, but they would have. He looked back at Bakura and Mehi glanced into the window of the vending machine to fix her shayla. 

Malik sighed. “Why did Bakura react like that?” His voice was lower now, and he kept an eye on the dancer to ensure he didn’t hear them. 

Mehi paused. “He has… some issues with abandonment,” she replied. From her tone, she was being very careful. “He was probably having a bad day already and the cat abandoned in an alley just… pushed him over the edge.”

“That doesn’t sound like just a small  issue.”

“If you want to know about it, ask him.” Mehi shook her head. “But not tonight. He’s had enough going on tonight.” She walked over to the chairs and Malik slowly followed her. Ryou gave them a smile as they sat, but Bakura hardly acknowledged their presence. 

Eventually, the nurse returned with Ryou’s bag, holding the kitten in her arms. “Alright, so you were right - she was probably tipped by a car. It doesn’t seem to be severe, so she should be fine in a day or two. We also took off the collar.” She shifted the cat in her arms so they could see her neck better. In a ring all around her throat was a thin line of matted fur. “They used a cheap dog collar with a furry inside and had it far too tight. If she got caught in something, she wouldn’t have been able to get out. Now the fur here will grow back, but it’ll take time. You’ll need to get her a proper cat collar - preferably along with a body harness.”

“Is she chipped?” Ryou asked.

The nurse shook her head. “No. No, she’s not. If you find her owner, tell them to get her chipped. It’s not safe to do that here.”

“Got it.” Mehi carefully reached out and took the small cat from the nurse. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” She nodded. “Have a good night.” She handed Ryou his bag and disappeared back into the door behind the desk. 

Bakura slumped in the chair. “What do we do?”

Ryou let out a slow breath. “We… ring the landlord and check about cats, we put up posters, and if no one comes forward and she’s okay with it, we keep the cat.”

Bakura glanced up at him. “Really?” His eyes still seemed shinier than normal. 

Malik nodded. “Yeah. We can’t just leave her out on the street.”

Mehi hummed and tickled her under the chin. The kitten purred and tilted her head back. They must have given her some sort of anaesthesia. “We should call her Strix or something like that.”

Ryou grinned as Malik frowned. “What’s that?”

“A monster from mythology that cursed anyone that killed it,” Mehi snickered.

Bakura rolled his eyes. “No way. She’s too small for that.” He pushed himself up out of his seat. “We should call her Diabound.”

“After that Duel Monsters card?” Mehi scoffed. “No. Not happening.”

“Cassie?” Malik shrugged. He wasn’t quite sure where the name had come from.

Ryou grimaced. “No. Bad associations.” Malik knew better than to ask what the bad associations Ryou had with the name Cassie were. “Melody?”

Mehi paused. “That’s actually really cute. We could call her Mellie for short.”

Bakura grinned and shook his head, walking towards the door. “That’s the dumbest name I’ve ever heard. I love it.” 

“Oi.” Ryou frowned at him. His accent was bleeding in, and Malik tried to resist the urge to swoon like an anime fangirl. “Cut it out. You know I don’t like it when you do that.”

Bakura huffed. “It’s not like I said ret-”

“I don’t care, and don’t finish that sentence.” Ryou’s frown deepened to a scowl and Malik didn’t want to see it become a glare.

Apparently, neither did Bakura, so he waved his hand. “Sorry, I’ll work on my ableism.” 

“Do.” Ryou folded his arms.

After a minute, Malik cleared his throat. “Melody’s a good name.”

Mehi nodded in agreement. “I think so too. It suits her. It’s a sweetheart name, and she’s just a little ball of fluff.”

“So it’s decided?” Malik raised an eyebrow.

Bakura stole the kitten from Mehi as they came to a halt at the bus stop. He held her up to his face and smiled. “Welcome to the wacky family, Mellie.” 

Malik’s heart thudded. The family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked the chapter! It's another new chapter so I hope you like their new family member. Please review!


	10. Chapter 10 | Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. I'm really sorry that this is late - the time difference is still hitting me, and honestly I was reading Cold Like Snow by Sita Bethel yesterday, and I crashed once I finished it (highly recommend it though! Please go buy it on Amazon!). But here you go! The chapter you've all been waiting for! Hope you enjoy!

**CW:**  Mentions of robbery and transphobic/islamophobic attack on Mehi.

* * *

"Hey, asshat." Bakura dropped onto the couch beside Malik. He was wearing the t-shirt the other had gotten him for his birthday.

"Hey, honey." Malik glanced up from his laptop. "Are you saving me from deadlines or-?"

"We all actually wanted to talk to you about something," Ryou replied, sitting on the coffee table. Mehi took the armchair, and Mellie leapt up into Bakura's lap. He scratched behind her ears.

Malik nodded and saved the document, turning his laptop off. "What's up?"

Mehi's lips cringed away to the left side of her face. "You know how pride is coming up?" Malik slowly nodded. "Well my parents were going to be driving us there-"

"Wait you're still talking to your parents?" Malik stared at her.

She blinked a few times. "Yeah, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" She shrugged. "They have us over for dinner every month."

Malik hesitated before shaking his head. "I just- they were good when you came out?"

Mehi grinned at him. "Got my name legally changed for my birthday one year and made sure everything I had done was covered by our insurance."

Malik shook his head. Fuck he had really gotten bad luck with his family. No, he shouldn't say that.

"Anyway." Ryou coughed. "Uh, they were going to drive us but Mehi's mom caught a bad fever so they need to stay home, and since they're not going, we were… maybe thinking about going… together."

"Okay…" Malik's eyes flickered between the partners.

Bakura stayed silent, leaning back into the couch. Ryou chewed his lip. "We were going to rent a room up there for the night so we're not travelling halfway across the city to get there."

"Oh." Malik nodded. "Oh. Yeah, that's fine. I'll come back here after the parade. You three have fun." He smiled.

Ryou blinked. "Are you sure?" He didn't sound happy, but maybe that was just Malik's emotions making him biased.

"Of course." He plastered his usual smile across his face. "I'm just going to run to the shop. Do you need anything?"

"Uh… no, I think we've got everything."

"Okay." Malik set aside his laptop and stood up. "See you in a few minutes."

Once the door closed behind him, Mehi sank back into the armchair. "Well that was a fucking disaster," Bakura muttered. "You okay?" Mehi grabbed a pillow, shoved her face into it, and half screamed.

"Me too." Ryou ran a hand through his hair. "God we're bad at this."

"I nearly told him I loved him at dinner – not all of this is on us," Bakura scoffed.

"You say you love everyone," Mehi pointed out, lowering the pillow and hugging it to her chest. "No offence."

Bakura shrugged and stretched his arms behind his back. Mellie mewled in protest and stretched her two front legs out before jumping out of his lap. "None taken." He dropped them onto the back of the couch. "But we need to talk to him. This is killing all of us."

"Okay, but we don't even know if he's up for a poly relationship," Ryou huffed.

"I know one way we can find out." Bakura grinned.

"How?"

Bakura just shook his head and stood up. "Just wait." He made his way to the middle of the room and began to stretch. He needed to stretch every day to keep his flexibility up, even on days that he wasn't rehearsing.

Ryou sighed and curled into Mehi as she picked up a book. He read it from his place against her side, and Mellie curled up between them a few minutes later.

None of them spoke for ten minutes until the door swung open again. Bakura looked up from his place on the floor, legs spread open in a splits. He had the decency to wait until Malik closed the door and set down the plastic bag, but not a second longer. "Hey, Malik," he called. "Are you polyam?"

"What?" Malik dropped his keys.

Bakura turned to look at him as the other bent down to grab the keys. "Are you polyamorous?"

Malik paused. "I've never been in a poly relationship, but yeah. I think so."

"Okay cool. Thanks." Bakura turned back to see Mehi rolling her eyes and Ryou frowning at him. "What?" Ryou made a chopping motion at his neck. "For heaven's sakes, Ry-"

"What's going on?" Malik asked, returning to the couch.

Bakura raised an eyebrow, but Ryou shook his head. "Nothing, Malik. It's fine."

"You sure?" Malik looked over at Mehi, who wouldn't meet his gaze. He finally looked at Bakura.

The latter huffed. "Fuck, I give up." He pushed himself to his feet and walked around to Malik. The journalist looked half frozen, mouth open to ask what was happening. Bakura moved slowly, hands reaching up to cup his cheeks and pull him down, giving him plenty of time to pull away.

Their lips brushed and Malik pressed them together, hands finding Bakura's waist. After a moment, he pulled back, eyes wide and scared. "I-"

Mehi growled and stood up. Malik's gaze flickered to her as she walked up and kissed him, faster than Bakura did, and more desperately – as scared as Malik looked.

Ryou was already beside him when he and Mehi pulled apart, and this time, Malik initiated the kiss, pulling Ryou closer to him. When they pulled apart, he was out of breath – more from the adrenaline than the actual kissing. "So, uh…" He swallowed. "Wha- What's happening?"

"We all like you, dumbass," Bakura mumbled, shaking his head. "And we want to date you. If you want. I don't know. Fuck."

Malik tried not to laugh. "Eloquent."

"Oh shut up and tell us what you want to do."

Malik hesitated. Mehi's eyebrows were furrowed, Bakura's nails were bitten almost into his fingers, and Ryou's skin was pink. His own hands were beginning to shake. "You really want me to-?"

"Join our relationship?" Ryou asked after a second of silence. Malik nodded. "Yeah. If you want to."

Malik shook his head, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. He was grinning from ear to ear, eyes bright. "Fuck, yes, I'd love to."

Bakura laughed and threw his arms around Malik, pulling the other two in with him. Ryou kissed his cheek with a giggle and Mehi buried her face into his shoulder. Malik squeezed his eyes shut. This was happening. This was actually happening.

"Want me to pinch you?" Bakura snickered.

"Damn it, Bakura, if you ruin this I will hit you," Ryou threatened and Malik laughed.

Dreams weren't clever enough to do this. This was real.

"So I can come to pride with you?" He asked. Mehi raised her head to stare at him. "Oh. Oh that- that was a hint wasn't it?" Ryou nodded, lips pursed to hide a laugh. "I'm a fucking idiot," Malik snorted.

Ryou squeezed him. "Don't use that word, but no you're not," he assured him, "and now we can properly plan this."

Bakura groaned. "Come on, we just did this. Don't scare him off with your plans and lists, Ryou."

"I'm just being organised!"

* * *

Malik let out a shaky breath and adjusted his sweater for what felt like the thousandth time. It wasn't what he would normally wear, but it wasn't exactly a normal occasion. Ryou had already had to talk him down from a shirt and tie. "They're not that fancy," he insisted. "A t-shirt and jeans is fine with them."

Malik had searched through his t-shirts and jeans, but wasn't quite happy with any. He hadn't been planning to end up dating and meeting his girlfriend's parents when he left home, so he hadn't packed many of his nice clothes. The shirt he had worn to Bakura's birthday dinner was the only one he had brought, and he had to borrow one of Ryou's suits for the ballet.

He had managed to talk Ryou into lending him a navy sweater though. He felt bad borrowing off him constantly, but Bakura was just far too small and he wasn't quite comfortable wearing women's clothes. Not that he believed there should be any distinction between men and women's clothes aside from the shaping, but still. Besides, Mehi didn't own sweaters. T-shirts, a few dresses, long-sleeved tops, blouses, sure. Sweaters? None.

Malik glanced in the mirror and tried tucking his shirt into his jeans again. He had been putting on weight. Maybe he should try the gym. Although exercise had never worked out well for him. He could try it though - maybe Mehi or Bakura could help. He pulled the sweater out again as someone knocked on the door.

"Are you ready?" Bakura called into the bathroom.

"Yeah." Malik ran a hand through his hair and took one more slow breath. He then turned and opened the door.

Bakura's eyes ran down to his chest and quickly back up again. "You look good."

Malik grinned. "I'd say the same for you but you haven't changed."

Bakura shot him with a finger. "You're the only one that did, asshat."

Malik's cheeks heated up and he glanced towards the door. Mehi and Ryou were both pulling on their trainers. "Sorry."

"Don't worry," Ryou assured him, looking up. "We don't mind waiting. Besides, we're not going too far." It was only a half hour run from the apartment with the buses, which - for a first - seemed to be running on time. The house ended up having a tanned wood exterior with a small white door that they had probably bought relatively cheaply in the seventies or eighties.

Mehi's father answered the door with a wide, toothy grin and hugged his daughter tightly, followed by all of her boyfriends. When he got to Malik, he hugged him just as fiercely as the others. "It's good to finally meet you. I heard you've been living with these nuts for a while now?"

"Papi," Mehi called, a warning tone in her voice.

"I'm not saying anything bad!" He protested, still smiling. His eyes were wide and dark, and his hair was grey and thinning. He was a small man, a little taller than Bakura - which he seemed to delight in - and his hair was still turning silver though he had a bald patch towards the back of his head.

"Hernan!" A voice called from further in the house. "Stop tormenting them!"

"Ay, díos mio, I'm not!" He shook his head and waved them inside. "Dinner's just done. You're vegan, right Malik?" Malik nodded and he turned to Mehi. "I told you not to date a vegan." Mehi rolled her eyes. He chuckled and looked back at Malik. "Don't worry, I'm messing. I hope you like picadillo."

"I can't say that I've tried it," Malik admitted.

Mehi's father gasped and turned to his daughter. "You never made him picadillo? How could you?"

"You know I can't cook for shit," she snorted. "The last time I tried, I burned a boiled egg."

"Right, but you should have given Bakura or Ryou the recipe." Hernan took Malik's arm. "You're going to have the meal of your life here tonight."

Inside the butter-walled kitchen, Mehi's mother looked up from the plates she was setting out on the table. "Hernan, I asked you to help."

"And I did - I let the kids in." Despite his protests, he hurried over to the pots to dish out the food.

Mehi rolled her eyes. "Mami, you're sick, you shouldn't be working." She took the plates from her and began to set them out.

"Ah, I'm fine." Mehi's mother looked up and smiled at Malik. He could see where Mehi's height had come from now - her mother was even taller than her, with a spool of black hair curling down her back. Her eyes were the same sparkling grey, and she even carried herself in the same way with her shoulders back and chin up. "Come here to me." She beckoned them over even as she walked to them and pulled Ryou into a hug. "Have you eaten anything since we last saw you? You're nothing but skin and bones."

"I'm fine," Ryou assured her with a laugh. "I've missed your cooking though. Kura's been doing most of the cooking because of my exams."

Mehi's mother turned to Bakura and wagged a finger at him. "I expected better of you than to let the poor boy starve."

"Oh trust me, he's far from starvation." Bakura grinned and she hugged him as well. "He's been hogging all of my namoura."

"Maybe you should be sticking to your diet," Ryou scoffed.

"Oh, hush. You'll both have plenty of food tonight." She turned to Malik next and cupped his face in her hands. She studied him for a moment before her face lit up. "Your articles are fantastic, sweetheart. Mehi's been sending me them as they've been published."

Malik's cheeks burned and he glanced at Mehi. "Really?"

"Really." Her mother nodded and patted his cheek. "You'll have to send me on some of your other work. I'm dying to read more." She patted his arm. "Although you didn't need to dress up so much. Mehi, didn't you tell him that he could be relaxed here?"

Malik's cheeks heated up again. He was the only one not wearing old jeans and a t-shirt. 'Told you,' Bakura mouthed at him. Malik flipped him off as subtly as he could.

"I did tell him; he just didn't listen." Mehi shrugged, smiling as she finished setting the table. "He'll learn."

Her mother released Malik and turned to her. "Ah, Luchita, te extrañe."

"I finally get attention after them?" Mehi laughed but she returned the hug her mother gave her and kissed her cheek. "I missed you too, mami."

"Oh, I know you did."

"Are we ready, Landa?" Hernan called.

Mehi's mother sighed and gave Mehi one last squeeze before pulling away. "Yes, yes, let's eat before the food gets cold." They all took their places around the table, Malik finding himself between Ryou and Bakura. Mehi sat opposite him beside Landa, and Hernan took the head of the table.

Malik was used to relatively silent meals when adults were involved - proper adults. He wasn't sure that he counted as one yet. Back with Isis and Rishid, they would turn on the news during meals but rarely talk. Any meal with Susan was pure silence. Atem's parents were rarely around, so they just ate up in his room. And Mehi, Ryou, and Bakura didn't count as adults yet either. So he wasn't quite prepared for the laughter and never-ending conversation that Landa and Hernan kept up around the table. It switched from music to Bakura's dancing to film to politics to religion to a holiday they were planning to take to Ryou's hormone treatment and Mehi's bottom surgery to someone down the road who was robbed. Towards the end of the meal, it turned to Mehi.

"I'm sorry, you were what?"

Bakura hadn't meant to bring it up. He had probably thought she had told them by the expression on his face. Mehi pushed the end of her food around her plate. "It wasn't a big deal, mami."

"It sure sounds like one." Landa leaned forward on the table. "I saw the article, but…" She nodded. "How many times?" Mehi shook her head, tongue flicking out over her lip. "Mehi, how many times?"

"Three or four."

They all started at that. "You told us it was only two!" Ryou protested.

"Nothing happened the other times!" She protested. "He was just being a dick and shouting at me. I would have told you if it was bigger."

"Well it got bigger, and you didn't tell us." Hernan frowned at her. "Which one was it? Did you know him from school?"

"Papi-"

"Was it that boy who threw your books off the bus? What was his name- Keith, I know his mother." He reached across the table to take Mehi's hand. "We can sort this out."

Mehi pulled away from him. "I don't want to sort it out. I want to leave it," she gritted out.

"Well it's not just up to you." Hernan pursed his lips. "He didn't just hurt you." Everyone's eyes fell on Malik, who shifted under their combined heat. "Malik?"

"I-" His eyes flickered to Mehi, but she looked down. "Look, it wasn't about me. I think we should do what Mehi wants." He took a slow breath. "I messed up last time and I don't want to do it again."

Ryou's hand slid over his and he squeezed. Landa nodded slowly. Mehi must have told them about the article. That or they saw it themselves. "You're right."

"Landa-"

"No." She reached for Mehi's hand she let her. "You're an adult now. And you're the one who needs to control your life. So if this is what you feel you need to do then…" She smiled tightly. "We'll support you. As always."

Mehi's eyes flickered to her father, who sighed and reached for her hand again. This time, she let him. "I still have my gun you know," he commented after a moment of silence. Mehi groaned, and Landa pulled her hand away to smack her husband's arm. "What? He wouldn't know it was me!"

"He hasn't seen me yet." Bakura grinned. "I could take him out."

"That's my boy!" Hernan laughed, throwing an arm around Bakura's shoulders. Mehi kicked him under the table.

The topic died down until they were leaving, each with a small portion of leftover picadillo and cake in a lunchbox. Landa hugged each of them in turn, mumbling something to Ryou and Bakura. When she got to Malik, she did the same. "I know this isn't your job," she whispered, "but please take care of her. You're dating them now, and you'll be going to prayer with her. Please."

Malik gave her a small squeeze. "I think she might be the one taking care of me if I got into a fight on her behalf," he chuckled, "but I'll do my best."

When she pulled back, Landa was smiling. "Thank you." Mehi was frowning, but none of them said anything about what her mother had told them or asked of them. Malik doubted he was the only person she asked, in any case. "I'll see you all soon, right? And you'll send me photos of pride?"

"Of course, mami." Mehi gave her one more hug, and then gave one to her father as well. "I'll send you loads."

"I was talking to Bakura," she laughed. "He's the only one of any of you who can take a decent photo."

Bakura winked. "Don't worry, I'll send them to Mehi so she can take all the credit." He leaned in and fake whispered, "But you'll know it's me, right?"

"Of course I will." Landa reached down and ruffled his hair. "Next time you come over, I'll make you some namoura if you send me some good ones."

"God, I love you. Have I ever told you that?" Bakura laughed and Mehi shoved him away playfully.

"We'll see you soon," she called as they left the house and walked out into the piercing silence of midnight in the enclosed estate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed! I might end up posting another chapter tomorrow if I get good news RE: getting into college but idk. Let me know if you'd like that, or if you want to keep to schedule. Either way, see you next time!


	11. Chapter 11 | Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. I got into my first choice for college so by this time next Saturday, I'll be up in Galway unpacking. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you so so much for drawing-cookie on tumblr for the fantastic fanart for this chapter - I honestly screamed when I saw it. Enjoy!

******CW:** Nightmares, familial transphobia, death, trauma, abandonment issues.

* * *

The night before they were due to go to pride, Malik finally joined the others in bed. He had been a little nervous to beforehand, but they managed to coax him in with promises that they would stay up to finish watching the new Orange is the New Black season. None of them were a huge fan of it anymore, and they were all outraged by the fact that some of their favourite characters had been sidelined, but they wanted to see it through.

Bakura had dosed through the last ten minutes, and Ryou followed him to sleep shortly after it ended. Mehi stayed up with Malik, watching as he typed out the end of an article on the brutality towards protesters in Bangladesh.

“You misquoted that.” Mehi pointed to the screen.

“Shit.” Malik rubbed his eye and doubled back. “Thanks.”

Mehi sighed and squeezed his hand. “Leave it for tonight. You’re tired and this is something that needs to be written well.”

“I can write it well now.” Malik huffed and fixed the quote. “Or at least write it okay-ish and edit it before I send it off.”

“You probably won’t get the go ahead on it,” Mehi warned. “They’ve literally been taking down social media posts. I’m not sure that even your news outlet’s going to touch this with a ten foot pole.”

“I need to try.” Malik shook his head and finished it off. “Okay how’s this?” Mehi peered at the screen.

**The government needs to take ownership of Bangladesh’s fallbacks rather than trying to sweep it under the rug and allowing students to be harassed, attacked, raped, and killed so as not to draw international attention to itself. These are not statistics - these are human lives that are being toyed with for the sake of saving face, and it should not be tolerated on a national or international level.**

“Looks good to me.” Mehi yawned. “Now put it away until morning.”

“Let me just read through it once more.” Malik clicked back to the top of the word document.

Mehi huffed and ran a hand through her hair. “You’re worse than Ryou when he’s cramming.”

“I’m not that bad,” Malik mumbled, already half distracted by proofreading.

“Yes you are.” Mehi glanced over at their other two partners.

Bakura was on his side, facing the wall, but Ryou was sprawled across the bed. She frowned. He usually slept curled up between them for warmth.

She leaned a little closer. A frown was creasing his face, and he was moaning softly in his sleep.

“Oh  _shit_ ,” she whispered.

“Hm?” Malik paused and tore his gaze away from the laptop. “What’s wrong?”

Mehi shook her head and pulled away from him. She shifted until she was sitting beside Ryou, and touched his arm. “Ryou? Ry?” In his sleep, he flinched. “Ryou, wake up.” She gently shook his arm.

His eyes flashed open and a panicked groan escaped his mouth. He jolted up, covering his mouth and whined.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Mehi murmured. “You’re okay.”

Ryou just shook his head. His shoulders were heaving, and he buried his face in his hands. Malik quickly set his computer down on the floor and moved closer to them. “Honey?” He whispered. “What’s wrong?”

“I-” Ryou choked on his words and curled in on himself.

“Are you going to throw up?” Mehi asked. He paused before shaking his head. Okay. That was good.

Malik swallowed and reached out to take Ryou’s hand, but stopped when Mehi shook her head. Ryou sniffed. “They- they were-” He coughed, and a sob escaped his mouth. “They said I killed her-”

Bakura groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He wasn’t usually fast to wake, but once he saw Ryou, he joined them. He moved slowly, touching Ryou’s knee with one finger to let him know where he was before carefully moving it up to his hip, never letting it leave his body. Once it was there, he slowly wrapped his arms around Ryou’s waist. Ryou turned and buried his face in Bakura’s shoulder.

Bakura reached up and ran his fingers through Ryou’s hair. “It’s okay,” he breathed, voice somewhat slurred from sleep. “You’re safe.”

Ryou shook his head but offered no explanation as to how he wasn’t. His entire body was shaking now. “They- he threw me onto the road-”

“He’s a crock of shit,” Bakura murmured, “who didn’t deserve you. You got that?”

“He wanted me dead-” Ryou’s words choked him again.

“She wanted you alive.” Bakura’s arms tightened around him, and he began to slowly rock Ryou back and forth, back  and  forth, b a c k  a n d  f o r t h, b  a  c  k   a  n  d   f  o  r  t  h.

Ryou sniffed again and hiccuped. “An-and she- she didn’t care, they just- they didn’t even let me get my things or-” He leaned harder into Bakura. It looked almost painful. “They were meant to help me.”

“Honey,” Malik breathed, “Bakura’s right. They didn’t deserve you.” He didn’t know for certain, but he had a fair idea of who they were.

Ryou shook his head. “Ma-maybe I should-should’ve just s-s-stopped and kept pretending-”

“Ryou, that nearly killed you.” Mehi leaned in and carefully cupped Ryou’s cheeks, lifting his head from Bakura’s shoulder. “They were the adults and they behaved like two-year-olds. That’s on them. Not you.”

Ryou brought up a hand to wipe his eyes. They were red and irritated looking, and he rubbed roughly, fingers pressing against his eyeball as if the pain could draw him away from the dream. “I could have saved her-”

“You were four,” Bakura insisted, “and you being a boy is not what killed her.”

Ryou just shook his head and whipped his head away, hiding in Bakura’s chest again. The smaller man just sighed and kept rocking until Ryou’s grip went lax, his breathing deepened, and his eyes closed again.

Slowly, Bakura lay back on the bed, bringing Ryou with him, and turned so they were both on their sides. Malik just watched, now anxious that Ryou would jolt awake again. He shouldn’t have missed that - he should have been paying attention like Mehi was. “Was that-”

Mehi sighed slowly. “Yeah.” She rubbed her eye with the palm of her hand. “I told you I think he has trauma but he doesn’t want to get it checked until after.”

“What happened?” He glanced at her but it was Bakura who spoke.

“When he was four, his sister ran across a road to get a ball he had dropped, and was hit by a car.” His eyes were fixed on the top of Ryou’s head and he hadn’t stopped combing his fingers through his hair. “He saw the whole thing. When he came out twelve years later, his parents insisted that him being trans is what killed her. That he should have been inside playing with dolls instead of kicking a ball around with her.”

Mehi picked up again when Bakura fell silent. “His father dragged him out of the house by his hair and shoved him into the road. He was hit, but he was lucky. He just broke his arm.” She scratched her nose. “Thankfully, it was England, and he had his wallet with some sort of medical card or- I don’t know how it works over there. But he was covered. His parents wouldn’t pay a penny of it. He went back to get his clothes and phone, and they called the police on him.”

“What the fuck,” Malik hissed. “He was a child-”

“Yeah.” Mehi shook her head. “It… fucked him up pretty badly.” She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. “He ended up living with a friend for a while, then got lost in the foster system for nearly two years.”

“How did he even get to America?” Malik asked, looking between them now.

“Picked up by a single father, was adopted, flown out, and…” Bakura sighed. “Diagnosed with cancer a few months later and died within a year. Ryou was in his first year of uni then.” He let out another slow breath. “His birth mother died a while ago, but his birth father’s still around. I think he’s in New York now. That’s why Ryou keeps the spare ticket - he keeps hoping he’ll suddenly… I don’t even know. Change his mind? Realise what he did was fucked up, apologise, and try to come back into his life?” Malik closed his eyes. Fuck. Holy fucking shit.

“Don’t bring this up tomorrow,” Mehi whispered after a long, dead patch of silence. “He mightn’t even remember it, and he deserves a break.”

That’s right. Pride. Malik lay down beside her. “What if he does?”

“Then… we do what he’s up for.” Bakura shook his head. “Sorry, Mal. I know it’s your first pride-”

“And if Ryou can’t go, I’ll have another first pride.” Malik turned on his side to face them. “I’m not going to force him to go if he can’t.”

“We’re not even discussing this right now.” Mehi turned and wrapped an arm around Ryou from behind. “It mightn’t happen. Let’s just… try to get some sleep.”

Malik hesitated, watching them. He didn’t want to go back out to the couch, but maybe it would be better if-

Mehi reached behind her and grabbed his hand, pulling him closer. “Come on.” She glanced at him and gave him a tired smile. He preferred her sleepy smile to her tired one.

But he returned it and wrapped his arms around her waist. One of his hands found Ryou’s arm and he carefully held that as well. Bakura’s leg lifted and he just put it on top of all of theirs, but Malik couldn’t bring himself to argue. It could wake Ryou, and it was… kind of nice.

He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. ‘Allah, protect Ryou,’ he mouthed. ‘Please.’ He wasn’t even Muslim, but surely Allah wouldn’t abandon someone who needed His help that much. He gently squeezed Ryou’s arm. Please.

* * *

Ryou ended up not being able to remember the dream the next day, or at least, from what they could tell at breakfast. He seemed his usual cheerful self once he had his cup of coffee in sugar. They took the train up to city centre, checked into their hotel, left their bags, and took the bus down to their destination.

Pride was a mess of colour and sounds that assaulted Malik the second he stepped off the bus. Mehi had managed to secure a rainbow hijab and was wearing exclusively blue, pink, and white outside of it. She had also managed to obtain blue and pink eyeliner and had succeeded in making trans pride wings so sharp they looked like they could cut someone. She was exceptionally proud of them.

Ryou had put coloured chalk in his hair – there was no reason to the colours; he just grabbed every one he could find and dragged it all through his hair until there was more purples and pinks and blues and greens than white. He had probably gotten the most excited for it because he was also wearing rainbow suspenders, rainbow converse, and a bi pride t-shirt that read,  **Both? Both? Both. Both sounds good.**  Malik suspected it was some sort of fandom reference.

Bakura had almost gone as extra as Ryou. He was wearing the t-shirt Malik had gotten him for his birthday with the rainbow flag tied around his neck, red wristbands, and a leather skirt with pockets and a mismatch of spiky belts. He also wore knee-high leather boots that had made Malik’s mouth go dry when he saw them. He wore bright red contacts as well, and his hair had been braided by Ryou earlier that day, so it was swept over his shoulder, away from the back of his neck, which he always complained got too hot in the sun. Malik had twisted two red flowers into his hair.

Malik had just grabbed a plain black shirt last minute. He had painted his hand with the pan pride flag colours and pressed his hand onto the fabric until it stuck. Once it was dry, Bakura had writted  **PANTASTIC**  on the back with leftover pink paint. He also wore his shark tooth fossil necklace from Rishid, and a pair of gold earrings. The bruising around his nose was nearly gone, but he had patched it up with a bit of makeup just in case. He didn’t want his artful photos being ruined by a bruise.

He had been a little nervous that they would stand out, but he almost lost his partners in the sea of colours with flags and balloons, and so many people dressed like fairies.

Mehi pulled Ryou under a giant rainbow flag and Bakura twisted, getting a good photo of them kissing as they helped to hold it up. 

 

Malik grinned and tugged Bakura under the same one. Bakura smiled and kissed his cheek as he took a selfie.

Malik’s cheeks burned as he glanced at his partner. “That’s rude.”

“Well we need photos of you too.” Bakura winked. His braid swung down around his shoulder.

Malik just laughed and pulled him back to Mehi and Ryou as the parade continued. They escaped the throng of it into crowds of people milling around, laughing and eating and drinking.

“Hey, do you want a brownie?” Someone in a green fairy costume asked, grinning. He held a wicker basket full of brownies.

“Nope, he’s good.” Ryou pulled him away. “Don’t eat or drink anything other people give you. Just in case.”

“Oh come on, let him have some fun,” Bakura snorted. “It wouldn’t do him any harm.”

“I don’t want to get high, Bakura,” Malik sighed, but he was still smiling. It wasn’t just the crowds or the music, the colours or even the people he was with. The entire atmosphere was light, and he already felt giddy and high on emotions. He felt happy and excited, and his face hurt from smiling so damn much. He just didn’t want it to end.

The phone call came about halfway through the parade. He groaned and answered, plugging one ear with his finger. “Hello?” He called.

_“Malik? Are you there?”_

Malik froze. “Isis?”

_“Of course. Where are you?”_

“I- hang on, let me get somewhere quieter.” He glanced around and tapped Bakura’s shoulder. “It’s Isis. I need to go inside.”

Bakura pointed over to a starbucks. “Head in there. I’ll get Ryou and Mehi and we’ll meet you there.”

Malik nodded, wading through the crowd to the coffeeshop. The cool air washed over him as he walked in, sweat sticking to the back of his neck. “Sorry.” What was he apologising for? He didn’t do anything.

_“Where are you?”_

Excuse. Think of an excuse. “I- uh, I’m-” He swallowed. You know what? Fuck her. “I’m at pride with my partners.”

There was a long pause. “ _Oh_.”

Malik’s nails dug into the palms of his hands. Ryou had painted them gold and he hadn’t touched anything with them for fear of smudging it but he couldn’t help it. He needed the distraction. “Isis, if you can’t do this, you need to tell me,” he muttered. “Because if you can’t, I’ll come and get the rest of my stuff some day next week and I’ll leave. But you need to tell me.”

She sighed.  _“You mentioned your partners? Are they the ones you wrote about?”_

“Mehi, Ryou, and Bakura,” Malik slowly confirmed. “Yeah. I’ve been living with them.”

_“I see.”_

Malik looked up as his partners entered the coffeeshop, sweaty and concerned. “Isis, this really isn’t a good time. Can we talk later?”

_“Have you been praying?”_

Malik swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve been going to Mehi’s mosque. It’s nice there.” He waited for a moment. “If you want to talk, you could come down on Friday?”

_“That sounds like a good idea. Where is it?”_

“It’s on Mission Street. Can you make it?” Malik ran a hand through his hair.

 _“I can't come this week, but I’ll be there next Friday,”_ Isis assured him.  _“We need to talk sooner rather than later.”_

“Okay. I need to go.”

 _“I- yes. Have fun.”_ She hesitated.  _“And bring your… partners. If they’re okay with it, I’d like to meet them.”_

Malik’s heart caught. “Yeah, okay. I will. Bye.”

As he hung up, Ryou edged a little closer to him. “Is everything okay?”

Malik looked up at them, gripping his phone in a clenched hand. “She wants to talk.” A half disbelieving smile spread across his face. “She’s coming to the mosque next Friday- she wants to meet you guys.”

Ryou’s eyes lit up. “That’s great!”

“Is this what you want?” Mehi tilted her head, still looking a little concerned.

Bakura just looked pissed off. “Cause if it’s not, you don’t owe her anything.”

Malik shook his head. “No. No, I don’t want to lose her or Rishid.” And if he lost one, he lost the other. “I want to sort things out.”

“Okay. We’ll work it all out later.” Mehi gave him a small smile and hooked her arm around his, and her other one around Ryou’s. Bakura took Malik’s other arm. “Now put your phone away and come be gay with us.”

Malik snorted and pocketed his phone. “Honey, you’re straight as fuck.”

She grinned and shrugged. “Then come be queer or whatever. We only get this once a year.”

They left the calm of the coffee shop and re-entered the chaos, and a sort of blissful peace spreading through Malik, even amidst the screaming and cheering. He closed his eyes, his smile returning full force as the wave of sound and colour washed over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got to the pride bit! The story kind of winds down a little bit from here, it's mainly them getting to know one another a little better, chilling out, and Malik sorting things out with Isis. Hope you enjoyed! Please review, and I'll see you next week from Galway.


	12. Chapter 12 | Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey; sorry for the delay. I moved up to the university this week and it's been a bit of a mess. The accommodation has carpets which I'm not used to and is really musty, and I have a fucking AWFUL allergy to dust and was pre-asthmatic so that's not a fun time for me. But on the other hand, my roommates are really cool and are the type of people that don't tire me out. Plus so far I've been cooking okay-ish and not eating too many sweets so that's good. Orientation week is going well too but I won't be able to change my name until January, so that's irritating, but I'll get there. Anyway, here's the chapter. It's really just badly written, dorky smut, so if you want to skip it, that's cool. There's only a minor plot point, and that's explained later tbh. Enjoy!

**CW:** NSFW, hints at self harm, scarring.

* * *

They stumbled into their hotel room in a fit of tipsy giggles, Ryou trying to shush them all though he was the one laughing the hardest. Bakura clutched a bottle of half-drunk prosecco in one hand, and held Malik's arm with the other to stay balanced. He couldn't hold his alcohol to save his life.

"You're all terrible," Ryou laughed as he closed the door. "God, I can't believe you stole the fucking unicorn."

Bakura snickered, doubling over. Malik had to help him up again. "Come on. It looked nice." He pulled the cheap, golden unicorn figure from his pocket and set it proudly on their nightstand. "Besides, he was overcharging by like... five dollars."

"True." Ryou checked the distance between himself and the bed before leaping back onto it. He landed on the blanket with another laugh.

Malik flopped onto the bed with him, grinning, and Mehi and Bakura quickly joined them. Bakura took a swig of prosecco and passed it on to Mehi. "So what'd you think of your first pride?"

Malik shook his head, grin only growing. He ran a hand up through his hair. "Fucking _amazing_."

"Yeah?" Mehi smiled and passed him the bottle. He nodded and took a swig. "Favourite part?"

"Mm- definitely gay Mario." Ryou answered for him.

Malik almost sputtered. As it was, he coughed as he lowered the bottle and had to wait a moment before he could speak. "No way. Mario wearing a rainbow flag as a promotion for a shitty capitalist company at pride was not the best part."

"Yes it was." Ryou stole the bottle and took a far more generous swig than his partners had. He apparently had a much higher alcohol tolerance than they did. "For me anyway."

Bakura's nose scrunched. "Nah. I'm surprised you didn't think those bubble waffles were better."

Ryou paused. "Okay. Okay, you've got me. Pride sweets are far better."

"There we go." Bakura leaned over and took the bottle back. "Christ, Ryou, you fucking drained it." He held the bottle over his mouth and let the last bit drip down onto his tongue. He swallowed and set the bottle on the bedside table. "No, best bit was that whole-" He waved his hand. "-area of protesters. Fucking pricks nearly shit themselves when they saw me with the red eye contacts in. Ah, fuck I wish one of them said something about me going to hell. Could've told them I was running it."

Malik pursed his lips. He hadn't been a fan of the protesters and had nearly gotten himself into trouble demanding that the police officers do their job and get them out of there. Thankfully, Ryou had more impulse control than Bakura and stopped him.

"I preferred that cinema we saw," Mehi admitted. "You know, the old-timey one with all the queer films on for the day. That was nice."

"I think I got a photo." Bakura searched one pocket for his phone. "Fuck it's in my bag. Ah, it can wait until tomorrow."

"I liked just... sitting in the park," Malik mumbled. Bakura paused and turned his head towards him. "When we had all the pride stuff on but we weren't marching or anything, just... chatting and making weird jokes and shit. It felt normal and good."

Mehi slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. "Yeah. It can get a bit overwhelming sometimes."

"No, it wasn't even that." Malik shook his head. "It felt normal." He knew he was repeating himself, but he didn't care. "No one was looking at us weirdly or... no one even mentioned Bakura in a skirt."

"Correction." Bakura held up a finger. "Several people loved it and wanted to know where the fuck I got it because of the pockets."

"Exactly." Malik smiled. "It felt normal and I liked it."

Ryou sighed, but it sounded light, and sure enough, when Malik looked, he was smiling. "I liked that too."

Bakura held his arm up, examining the rainbow bracelet he had bought earlier that day. "It was pretty nice," he admitted, "if you're into that."

"Don't try to deny you are," Mehi snorted and pushed his braid out of the way to kiss his neck.

Bakura grinned. "Maybe but I'm much more into you kissing my neck." Marik's breath slowed but he tried to make it seem normal.

Mehi smirked and twisted so that she was leaning over Bakura. Her hijab was still in place, but it was loose and hung around her face. "Yeah?"

Bakura hummed in agreement, hands moving to hold her waist. Malik swallowed as Mehi leaned down and pressed their lips together. Bakura groaned and tugged at her lower lip, impatient as ever. Mehi huffed as her hijab hit Bakura's cheek, and she reached up, trying to pull it free. "Ah, fuck-" She winced and pulled back. "I don't know why I thought that would work."

Malik couldn't help but laugh. "Need some help there?"

Mehi grinned at him. "In more ways than one."

Malik swallowed but he had already committed to at least this, so he climbed over to her and helped her work the pins and cloth out of her hair. It hung down around her shoulders in a wavy mess by the time they were done. Bakura huffed. "I think I preferred you kissing me to this."

"I can help with that." Ryou leaned in and turned Bakura's head to face him before kissing him. Malik's hands stilled in Mehi's hair as he watched them. They were both as impatient as each other, nipping at each others' lips, grabbing hair.

Malik found himself releasing a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as Mehi shifted to face him. "You okay?" She murmured.

"Yeah." His voice was breathy. "I just- I haven't exactly-" He'd only had one boyfriend. They were both in the closet at the time, anxious, and paranoid. He'd had a girlfriend too, but neither of them had been quite ready for a relationship at the time and nothing had happened. Nothing like this anyway. Nothing with four people or that involved more than oral.

"That's fine." She smiled and her hands ran up his legs to his hips. "But are you comfortable doing this? We can slow down, or do something else-"

"You can do something else," Bakura panted. "I'm staying right here." Ryou's face was hidden in his neck now, and judging from his groans, he really hadn't been lying about being into having his neck kissed. Or bitten, in this case.

Mehi hit his leg with the back of her hand. "Ignore him. Seriously."

"I'm fine." Malik's arms wound around her neck. "Really." He still hesitated. Should he just do something? It felt like he should. He slowly leaned in, but it was Mehi who pulled him into her lap and kissed him. He eagerly returned it. When he thought about it, kissing felt weird, but he definitely enjoyed it. Mehi's hands ran back down to his legs, and as he nipped at her lip the same way Bakura had with Ryou, she squeezed his thighs.

His stomach rolled but he tried to appear more confident than he felt as his tongue darted into her mouth. He could still hear Bakura groaning in the background, but Mehi moved slowly. Just as Malik's hands slid down to her waist, trying to find the hem of her shirt, something landed on their heads.

Mehi grunted and jerked back, and a shirt fell into Malik's lap. "The fuck Bakura?"

Malik had to cover his own mouth to hide a laugh. Bakura glanced over at them, now shirtless, and flipped them off. Ryou was grinning, but at least he had the decency to mouth a small apology.

Mehi rolled her eyes and threw the shirt back at Bakura. Bakura just caught it and dumped it over the side of the bed, and Ryou began to kiss down his chest. "Get over here and you won't be hit by flying clothes."

Mehi glanced at Malik, who just grinned at her. "Can't let him be the only one shirtless."

Mehi snorted and shook her head. "You're both way too competitive."

Malik hummed and found the bottom of her shirt. "Yeah, but you'd be bored if we weren't."

She raised her arms and let him pull it off. "I don't know about that."

"Ah, you would be." Bakura lazily flipped her off. Mehi ignored him and pulled Malik's shirt over his head.

He was a little nervous about being shirtless. Mehi had abs to die for and Bakura was lithe from dancing. He wasn't out of shape, but they were textbook models. Mehi cupped his face and kissed him again. "Fuck, you're gorgeous."

Malik chuckled and ran his hands through her hair. The curls were still tight against her head, and he brushed some out with his fingers. "I think you're talking about yourself, honey."

"Stop being cheesy shits and get over here so I can fucking ravish one of you," Bakura complained. "Or you can ravish me. Either way."

Malik snorted and shook his head. He climbed off Mehi's lap and over to Ryou. "Why would we reward you when Ryou's the one doing all the work?" He chuckled, looking over Bakura.

Ryou pushed himself up, grinning. "I like that plan."

"Wait, no that's not a plan." Bakura scowled. "God damn it."

Mehi snickered as she brushed Ryou's hair out of the way to get at his neck. "That's what you get for throwing clothes over us."

"Oh come on. I wore heels all day."

Mehi raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "Yeah, you don't get sympathy from me on that."

"I'll give you a little," Ryou laughed, leaning down. As Mehi kissed and nibbled his neck, he made his way down Bakura's stomach. Bakura's breath hitched.

Malik kissed the other side of Ryou's neck and toyed with the bottom of his shirt. "Can I take this off?"

Ryou hesitated. "Yeah," he finally decided, sitting up again, and pulled it off himself. Underneath, a half-tank binder covered his chest. "But I'm leaving the binder on."

"That's fine," Malik assured him, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Ryou smiled at him. He had probably been wearing the binder for more than twelve hours, but they could convince him to wear his sports bra or something for a few days afterwards. He didn't start work until the week after anyway.

He continued kissing down Bakura's stomach as Mehi bit his neck. Malik finally moved back up to Bakura, who huffed. "About time."

"Yeah, shut it." Malik grabbed his hair and pressed their lips together. Bakura didn't complain at the tug, only groaning into the kiss. Good, his theory had worked out.

Ryou moaned and Malik glanced over at him to see Mehi had one hand down his pants already. His fingers gripped Bakura's belt for a second and he started to undo it before pausing. "Shit." He glanced over towards the bags. "Did anyone pack any lube?"

Malik paused. He hadn't even thought of it. The blank look on Mehi's face told him she was in the same predicament, and Bakura covered his face, cursing. He huffed and lowered his hands. "Okay there's a shop across the road. Who's going to get some?"

"Nope." Ryou shook his head. "No way. I'm not moving."

"I'm wearing a skirt." Bakura gestured to the skirt. "And pride is technically over. So no."

"You could just change it," Malik pointed out.

Bakura glanced up at him. "Yeah right. I look fucking good in this and I'm not losing it until someone takes it off."

Mehi glanced at Malik but shook her head. "Okay so we're not making Malik go-"

"I would," Bakura supplied.

"-and Bakura won't."

Ryou paused. "I should take off my binder."

"You're not taking it off," Mehi scoffed.

"I'm shirtless."

"So am I!" She pointed to her chest.

Ryou stood up and stripped down to his boxers. "I'm pantsless."

Despite the blood rushing to Malik's groin, he was struggling not to laugh at the hilarity of the situation. Mehi reached around, struggling to unhook her bra. She quickly yanked it off and folded her arms, smirking at Ryou.

"You know," Bakura drawled, "if you ran, you'd probably be back in less time than you've already spent arguing."

Ryou looked at her. "I'm not moving."

Mehi gave a long, suffering sigh. "Fine, I guess I'll just... spend twenty minutes putting my hijab back on-"

"Oh fine!" Ryou huffed and pulled his pants back on. Malik snorted and hid his face in Bakura's shoulder, shaking his head. He looked up in time to see Ryou yank his shoes on and dart outside.

Mehi covered her mouth, grinning. "That was mean."

"Fuck yeah it was," Bakura cackled. "And it was perfect too. Fuck I wish I recorded that!"

Malik pushed himself back up. "He's going to sprint there and back isn't he?"

Bakura looked at the door. "He'd better fucking not." His smile was gone, and Malik remembered the binder.

"He'll be fine." He leaned in and kissed Bakura's forehead, then his neck, then his chest. Bakura hitched up and Malik pinched his nipple, earning a low groan.

Mehi climbed onto the bed again and knelt between Bakura's legs. "So you were saying about not wanting this off?" She gave the leather skirt a tug.

Bakura lifted his legs. "Fuck, take it off-"

"But you said you didn't want to."

"I swear to God, Mehi-"

Malik reached down and unbuckled Bakura's belt. Mehi rolled her eyes. "Well it's no fun when you do it like that," she huffed, but when no one replied, she unzipped Bakura's skirt and pulled it away.

Malik tried not to let his eyes wander down their bodies, but it wasn't working. Bakura smirked at him. "You know you can look, right?"

Malik's cheeks flushed. "Oh shut up."

"I'm just saying."

"Okay, if you want to be like that." He twisted so his back was facing Bakura and he pressed his lips to Mehi's. A pleased hum escaped her and she pulled him closer. He felt Bakura's shift, and his hands on his back. This was the first time he would have seen it closely.

It wasn't bad. Not anymore. The red lines and scars still marred it, but he had lathered them with cream every night when he was better, and had covered them with tattoos. Bakura leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to each of the scars, on his shoulders, the back of his arms, his sides.

Malik moaned, using Mehi for balance now. Her fingers toyed with his belt for a moment, or maybe she was fumbling to try and undo it. When it came away, he quickly kicked his jeans away. They were long since too tight for comfort.

Bakura reached around him and pulled Mehi's skirt down around her knees. She pulled away, shuffled out of it as best she could without getting up, and kicked off her trainers.

Malik's breath was heavy and he couldn't stop looking at her. Bakura nipped at his jaw, and Malik's gaze turned to him. Fuck. He should be doing something.

He hesitated again, and Mehi kissed him. "Want to tease the fuck out of Bakura until Ryou comes back?"

Malik considered it, but he grinned. "I think I'd rather tease you." Bakura gave a small cheer and Mehi raised an eyebrow, but smiled and lay back on the bed as if to say 'go right ahead'.

"Fucking finally!" Bakura laughed.

Malik swallowed. "Anywhere either of you don't want touched?"

Bakura paused. "Wrists." Malik just nodded. Now wasn't the time.

Mehi just grinned. "Touch wherever you want; I paid enough for it and I want to enjoy it."

Malik nodded and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear. She hitched her hips up to make it easier to pull down. Bakura kicked off his own boxers and struggled out of his boots. Malik pressed a quick kiss to Mehi's lips before mapping out a path down her chest and stomach.

"Motherfucker- don't you fucking-" Bakura wrenched one boot off as Malik reached her thighs. "Don't start without me! I never get to tease her!"

"Because you never object when I want to tease you," Mehi pointed out. Malik flipped Bakura up and slid his tongue between Mehi's folds. She cursed as he flicked his tongue up over her clit. He was a bit more comfortable with this. This he knew how to do - at least okay-ish.

Bakura kicked off the last boot and scrambled over to them. Mehi smirked at him, and he wiped it away by kissing her, hands already working on her breasts.

She moaned and tugged him down, biting his lip. Malik watched, tracing circles into Mehi's thigh with one hand. He flattened his tongue against her hole, then gave several fast jabs.

"Fuck," she huffed out against Bakura's lips as he pulled away. He grinned and moved closer to Malik, wrapping his lips around one of her nipples. At the same time, Malik slid a finger into her and sucked at her clit. Mehi's hips bucked up, her hand gripping Bakura's hair.

The door opened and swung shut again. "Oh fuck you all."

Mehi laughed. "Did you get it?"

"Yes," Ryou sighed, kicking off his shoes. "And condoms."

Right. Malik had half forgotten they were a thing. He licked Mehi's clit once more before leaning up a little. "You coming to join us?" He hooked his finger up inside Mehi and she groaned.

Ryou grinned and pulled off his shirt again. "Forgive me for stealing Bakura."

"You can't," Mehi decided. "I like him here."

"Then I'm stealing Malik."

"Nope. I like him here too." She grinned.

"I could steal you," Ryou mused, pulling off his pants and boxers.

"Nope, I am getting fucked by someone here tonight," Bakura insisted.

"God damn it." Ryou shook his head. "Rock paper scissors."

"How?" Malik raised an eyebrow. "Not that I'm complaining, but how?"

Ryou groaned and hid his face in his hands. "Okay, fuck. Okay. I'm stealing Bakura, and we can... I don't know, arrange it that we're all close enough to touch?"

"Sounds good to me," Bakura agreed. Malik nodded in agreement, and Mehi gave a suffering, dramatic sigh.

"I  _suppose_ -"

"Great." Ryou smirked and moved around the bed to Bakura. They were a little close to the edge that way, so Malik shifted over to give them more room.

He eased another finger into Mehi and returned to sucking her clit, quickly adding a third. She gripped the sheets, and Bakura stole the lube, sliding a finger into Ryou's ass as they kissed.

Malik did his best to stay confident, but when Mehi hitched her hips up again, he paused. "I, uh-"

"Hey, it's okay," Mehi assured him, though her breath was heavy. "Just... do whatever you're comfy with."

Malik's eyes flickered over to Bakura and Ryou. Ryou was on top of Bakura now, rocking on three fingers, tugging Bakura's hair. Malik quickly reached for the box of condoms, straining to get it by Bakura's foot, and opened it. He glanced at Mehi to make sure that this was okay, whatever this was, but she just beckoned him closer and took the box from him.

As she took one of the foil wrappers out, she kissed him. A hand wrapped around his dick and he moaned, eyes slipping closed. After a few strokes, the hand pulled back for a moment, and Mehi slid the condom over Malik's cock. Malik didn't quite manage to bite back a whine of protest as her hand slid away.

Mehi just grinned at him as he opened his eyes. "Trust me, fucking me will be a lot better than my hand."

Malik bit his lip at the thought and his stomach started to somersault again. "Are you sure?" He had to ask, more for himself than anything.

Mehi nodded. "Are you?" Malik mimicked her actions and moved back between her legs. Beside them, Bakura pulled his fingers out of Ryou and put on a condom. He also coated his dick with a bit more lube. Malik paused, situated just at Mehi's cunt, waiting. Bakura's eyes lit up when he saw what Malik was doing, and once he was ready, they both eased into their partners at the same time.

Ryou sank down on Bakura's cock, gripping his knee and arm for balance, and Mehi fumbled for Bakura's chest. She pinched and twisted his nipple at the same time, making him buck up into Ryou.

"Fuck!" Ryou groaned, head falling back. "Oh, fuck yes."

Mehi's legs hooked up around Malik's waist as his breath stuttered. Fuck, Ryou was right; fuck yes. His first few thrusts were slow and a little shaky, but Mehi lost patience with that quickly. "Move!" He met her gaze, scoffed, and snapped his hips forward. Mehi's head fell back and she rolled her hips up to meet his thrusts. "Fuck, much better!"

He didn't last long. He didn't really expect to - Mehi's cunt was far tighter and hotter than he had expected and he never claimed to be experienced. In fact, quite the opposite. Multiple times. But it still felt far too early when he shuddered and tensed, releasing into the condom.

Mehi didn't complain about it, but he pulled out and disposed of the condom quickly before replacing his dick with his fingers again. She gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer, kissing him hard. Her breathing was ragged, chest catching as he hooked his fingers up and circled his thumb over her clit.

"Oh- fucking- fuck, Malik," she moaned, bucking her hips up. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Her grip on his shoulders tightened and she tensed for a minute. Malik kept curling his fingers, though at a slower pace, to help her ride out the orgasm. He only pulled them away when her hands dropped from his shoulders and she slumped into the pillows.

"Are you coming over or not?" Bakura huffed.

"Fuck, give me half a second." Mehi pushed herself up and pulled Malik into another kiss before shifting closer to Bakura and Ryou.

Malik moved in behind Ryou and kissed his neck. "Anywhere you don't want to be touched?"

"Chest," Ryou panted, not slowing to answer him, "and vagina."

"Clit?"

"Fuck it, it's fair game." His accent was coming out strong again, and Malik grinned. He really did love that accent. His hand wound around Ryou's stomach and ran down to his clit. The action made him slow a little, but he didn't complain as Malik's fingers circled over his clit. "Ah, fuck! Faster!"

Malik obliged and Ryou sped up again, riding Bakura as fast as he could without dislodging Malik's hand. Mehi had Bakura's mouth preoccupied and was teasing his chest again. A string of moans and whines were muffled by her mouth, but Ryou's weren't.

"Holy shit, fuck, shit, yes!" Ryou fumbled and grabbed Malik's wrist. "Fuck, more!" He couldn't speed up without Ryou slowing down, so instead, Malik bit his neck. Ryou shuddered. "Fuck, Malik!" Bakura's hips bucked up harder into him. "Ah, Bakur-aah!" He tensed as he started to cum, but started moving again, faster, to draw it out.

Mehi pulled herself up just as Bakura shouted, eyes screwed shut, and jerked his hips up one more time. Ryou sank back against Malik with a small groan. "Fuck."

"Already did that." Malik grinned and kissed his temple. Bakura snickered but Ryou just sleepily swatted him. "Come on, lift up."

Ryou slowly climbed off Bakura, who reluctantly pulled off the condom and dumped it, holding it at arms length from his body at all times. "Seriously?" Mehi snorted. "It's your cum."

"Still." Bakura wrinkled his nose and grabbed a tissue, wiping his hands. The lube just stuck to the tissue and he ended up spreading it to his palm. "Shit."

"Just wash your hands and come to bed." Ryou yawned. "You too Malik. No lube in the bed."

"It's already on it," Bakura huffed, but he traipsed into the bathroom. Malik followed him. It was small and the paint was fading, but the large bed more than made up for the shitty toilet. As soon as his hands were washed and dry, he climbed into the bed behind Ryou and wrapped his arms around him.

Ryou cooed and curled back into him. Malik paused. "Ryou, binder."

"Shit." Ryou huffed and sat up. "Pass me a shirt." Malik twisted and strained for one of the shirts in the open suitcase as Ryou pulled the binder over his head and coughed. He winced and rubbed his ribs. Malik handed him the shirt. "Remind me not to bind tomorrow."

"We will," Bakura assured him.

"Thanks." Ryou pulled the shirt over his head and lay down again, curling into Mehi. She was already half asleep. Malik wrapped his arms around Ryou again, spooning him.

Bakura climbed in on Mehi's side and half lay across her chest. She wrapped one arm around him without opening her eyes. "Love you nerds," she mumbled.

Malik felt Ryou shift, and he knew both Ryou and Bakura were watching him. "Love you too."

Ryou relaxed in his arms. "Me too."

"Yes, I love me too," Bakura agreed. Ryou reached for something to throw at him, but he laughed. "Okay, okay, I guess I love you assholes too."

Malik smiled and kissed the back of Ryou's neck. "I changed my mind," he decided. "About my favourite moment of pride. This is definitely it." There was a moment of silence, then laughter. "You know what, I take it back, I hate you all."

"Sorry," Mehi snorted, "that was just so fucking cheesy."

Malik rolled his eyes and rested his forehead between Ryou's shoulder blades. "Okay, be like that then."

"Aw, no," Bakura snickered, "we like it. You're just- damn, Malik you're meant to be a writer. Avoid the clichés."

"I'll remember that next time," Malik promised, yawning. "Now go to sleep, honey, or I'll stop calling you that."

"No you won't. I don't think you're capable of not calling people honey."

"Oh shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed. I'll try to update on Saturday this week. Please review, and see you next time.


	13. Chapter 13 | Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. Sorry I'm late again. I'm still adjusting to uni, but I'll get there. This is a sort of heavy chapter so check out the content warnings if you need them. Hope you enjoy!

**Content Warnings:**  Self harm, deportation/ICE, death, immigration, abusive parent mentions, mentions of Malik's past, mentions of dissociation and mental illness.

* * *

 

Malik hummed a song he heard somewhere under his breath as he packed the basket with food for sandwiches. It was the perfect kind for a picnic - the kind you only saw in films, with a light wicker exterior, a folding top, and red checkered cloth sewn to the inside. He almost wanted to stick a foot-long bread roll in it and take a photo for his instagram, but if he did, Ryou might see it too early and that would ruin it.

Instead, he settled for packing the food as neatly as he could. Mehi walked into the kitchen and kissed the back of his neck. He looked up at her and placed the last plastic container into the basket. "Did you get it?"

"Yep." Mehi placed the plastic bag of thin cardboard boxes on the counter. "I think the owners are getting worried. This is our third time there this week."

Malik scoffed and shook his head. "They're not going to worry so long as we keep paying for it." He carefully unpacked the boxes from the bag and stacked them in the basket.

"Here." Mehi grabbed one of the tea towels from the press and handed it to him. "It'll hide them a bit more."

"Perfect." Malik smiled and stole it from her. He carefully covered the top of the boxes and some of the food with the towel before trying to close the basket. He managed to clip it shut, although just barely. Barely was still better than not at all though. "Is Bakura ready?"

"Probably," Mehi replied, "but knowing him he'll be half naked on the bed on his phone because he forgot to get a shirt."

Malik shook his head. "Yeah, good point. I'll go check on him."

"Thanks." Mehi grinned and pulled out her own phone. "I'll ring Ryou and check where he is."

Malik nodded and wandered down to the bedroom. His partners had finally convinced him to put his clothes in the closet, so now his duffel bag wasn't clogging up one corner. Sure enough, Bakura was lying on the bed, although he had his shirt on. It was his jeans he had seemingly forgotten, though they were clenched in one hand, and he had boxers on. "You okay there?"

Bakura grunted in response. His eyes didn't waver, and Malik sighed. He reached over and touched Bakura's shoulder. That got him to at least look at him. "Sorry," he mumbled. "My thing's acting up again."

"Which one?"

"Executive function disorder."

Malik nodded. "That's okay. Do you need some help?"

Bakura scoffed and forced himself up. "I'm fine. I'm not a child."

"I know."

Bakura shook his head, probably a mixture between frustration and trying to keep himself from zoning out again. "Ryou's not back, right?"

"Not yet," Malik assured him. "The basket's packed though, and Mehi's ringing to find out where he is."

"Good." Bakura nodded and tugged on his jeans. "Can you pass me the socks?" Malik grabbed the pair of Dothraki Born socks from the floor and threw them over to Bakura. He yanked them on. "I don't know what's up with me today."

"Hey." Malik placed his hands on Bakura's shoulders. "You're not having a great day. That's okay. We get that you're doing your best."

Bakura sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Yeah. Thanks."

Malik kissed Bakura's forehead as Mehi yelled down to them, "Come on - he's just downstairs. Get your asses out here."

"The Khaleesi calls," Bakura chuckled. He used Malik's arms to help haul himself off the bed and followed his boyfriend out into the hall. They reached Mehi just as the doorknob turned and Ryou burst into the apartment.

His face was almost as white as his hair, but he was grinning from ear to ear. "I passed!" He screamed, throwing his arms around them. "I passed them!"

Mehi grabbed the results sheet from his hand and scanned it. "Shit, Ryou, you did more than pass - you got over seventy in everything."

"That's fantastic, honey!" Malik kissed his cheek.

Ryou shook his head, breathless with excitement. "I can't believe it. I can't believe it," he kept repeating.

"You had better believe it," Bakura snorted. "You did enough work for those grades. I would have gone in there and yelled at your lecturers for you if you had gotten less."

Ryou swatted at him but he was too happy to actually care. "I just- Over seventy! No one gets that!"

"You deserve it," Mehi assured him, hugging him tightly. "Come on - we're taking you out to celebrate."

Ryou paused. "But we already had a meal out." Bakura's birthday had only been a month beforehand, and the restaurant had been expensive. He didn't want Malik to have to pay for them, but they didn't have enough money to go out for a nice meal.

"Not quite that type," Malik told him. He took one of Ryou's hands and led him into the kitchen. Mehi flourished her hands and pointed to the basket. "Ta-da."

Ryou's eyes lit up and he covered his mouth. "A picnic?"

"Yup." Bakura looped an arm around Ryou's waist. "We're heading out to the park. Unless you have something else you want to do."

Ryou shook his head so fast it could almost be considered headbanging. "No, no, no! Picnics are my fucking aesthetic, I love you guys so much."

"Love you too, Ry." Mehi kissed his forehead. "Come on, let's go before we miss the bus."

The weather was beginning to cool down so they were able to find a quiet place in the park to sit down and break out the food. It wasn't much - just a few pre-buttered rolls with a mess of ham, cheese, lettuce, and anything else they had managed to find in the fridge.

Ryou of course dug into the rest of the basket and retrieved the box of cream puffs and namoura. "Don't you dare!" Bakura grabbed the box of namoura. "Mine. All mine." Malik leaned over and stole one. "These aren't vegan, Ishtar - I'm immune to your theft."

Malik snorted and passed the namoura to Ryou. "No you're not." Bakura just flipped him off and stuffed one of the cakes into his mouth. By sunset, they still hadn't left. They just sat together, Ryou leaning on Mehi, Bakura's head on the latter's lap, and Malik curled into Ryou's side, and watched the fire spread across the sky. "I love you," Ryou murmured again as the last of the colour faded.

Malik smiled and kissed the side of Ryou's arm. "I love you too." He reached up and squeezed Mehi's hand, and then ran his free hand through Bakura's hair. "All of you."

* * *

Bakura's knee nudged him, pushing him farther into the arm of the couch. "You know," Malik huffed, smashing the buttons on his controller, "pushing me away isn't going to help you win."

Bakura scowled. "Maybe if you'd stop just smashing buttons and figure out the special attack combo with me, I'd have a better chance."

Malik clicked his tongue and pressed his palm against all four buttons. On screen, his character swung her sword in a wide arc and slammed it into Bakura's. His boyfriend's character disintegrated and a bright red  **VICTORY**  appeared on Malik's side of the screen. "Not a chance."

Bakura huffed and slammed the controller down on the couch. "You're a fucking asshole, you know that?"

"Oh trust me, I do," Malik assured him. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Bakura's shoulder. "But you don't mind."

"Eh." Bakura shrugged. "I guess." He sighed and picked up the controller again. Malik caught a glimpse of some of the scars around Bakura's ribs underneath his tank top. He'd seen them before, but he didn't like them any more than the first time. "What game do you want to play now?"

Malik let out a slow breath. Mario Kart would just end with them both yelling at one another, and although he couldn't deny the fact that he enjoyed arguing with Bakura, he wasn't in the mood for it at that moment. "How about we just stick to this?" They didn't have all that many multi-player games, and Malik didn't like watching other people play.

"If that's what you want." Bakura shrugged and hit  **NEW GAME**. They played another few rounds before Bakura found out how to do the combo attacks. He wouldn't tell Malik what button sequence to press, so Malik's attacks were uncontrolled and came at uncertain times while Bakura's were precise and he managed to use them at the perfect times.

By the fifth round after Bakura had discovered the right sequence, Malik had lost their 'best out of eleven' game. Bakura was grinning far to much for a video game victory. "You're terrible."

"I know." Bakura hit the exit button. "Another round?" His finger scratched just out of sight, under his wristband.

Malik hummed and leaned back into the couch cushions. "Actually, can I ask you something?" Bakura looked over at him. "It's about- well you said you didn't like your wrists being touched and you're covered in scars and-" He cut himself off when Bakura looked away. "You don't need to tell me if you don't want to."

"I know." Bakura sighed through his nose. Slowly, one of his hands moved to his wrist. He always wore wristbands with short-sleeved shirts, and until he had mentioned not liking his wrists being touched, Malik hadn't questioned it. He pulled off one of the wristbands, revealing a thick scar that wound its way around his wrist. It almost looked like Mellie's neck had when the vet had taken the collar off, though more permanent. Marring it further were thin lines running a little way up his arm.

Malik's breath caught in his throat. He reached out a hand, but pulled it back.

"It's fine." Bakura offered his hand though he wouldn't look at Malik. "You can touch it."

"You said you didn't-"

"Yeah, well I don't like it when I'm not expecting it." He shrugged. "Besides. You, Ryou, and Mehi are different."

Malik carefully took Bakura's hand and kissed his wrist. "What happened?"

"I never had the best mental health." Bakura's head fell back. "And when I got to America, I didn't have parents. I was separated from the group I came with. I wasn't a kid, I wasn't one of those cute little two year olds parents cry over when they're on the news. I was thirteen. They didn't care if they had the cuffs too tight or left them on for too long." He shrugged slowly, shoulders falling limp after the action.

Malik shook his head. That's fucked, bubbled to his mouth. I'm so sorry. Holy fuck. Are you okay? All of them rose to his lips and then retreated before he could say them. He kissed the scars again. "I love you."

Bakura's eyes flickered to him, and he smiled. "I love you too, you nerd." Malik's eyes were burning. "But I'm okay."

"Are you?" Malik looked up at him. Bakura's smile faltered. "You breaking down when you found Mellie - that wasn't just because you like animals or were worried about her."

Bakura looked away again, his smile falling entirely. "Look," he mumbled, but he never finished the sentence. He just stared out of the window. "Look," he tried again. "I have… some issues."

"I know," Malik replied after a moment of silence. "We all do."

"Yeah…" Bakura sighed and pulled his hand away. He yanked his wristband back on, covering the old scars. "Yeah, I guess." He shook his head and leaned forward so he was almost curled in on himself. "But this is just silly."

"No it's not," Malik insisted. "Not if it affects you like this."

Bakura was silent for a minute. "I lived in a… I guess it was more of a village than anything, there were a few hundred people there. It was called Muzayraa. 'Ab was religious - there were crosses all over the house, pictures of Jesus, the pope, everything." He shook his head. "He kept saying that if anything happened, God would protect us. 'Umi didn't really believe him. She didn't take them down or anything, but she wasn't as strict about prayer or saying grace or any of that." This was the first time Malik had heard Bakura refer to his parents in Arabic. Bakura closed his eyes, and pressed his hands against his forehead. "One day, I got home, and they told me I needed to leave. I wouldn't. I kept yelling and screaming that I wasn't going to go without them - fuck, I didn't even know where to go. 'Ab was the first to calm down. He convinced 'umi to stop and we ended up having a nice dinner and watching a film and going to bed and I just… I woke up in the middle of the night and they were gone." He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "I wouldn't leave them, so they left me." He shrugged. "I found a group getting people out of the country through a neighbour after a few days and I left." Malik moved closer to him and wrapped his arms around him. Bakura leaned into him and laughed. "It was Titanic. 'Umi loved that film. It was huge - they managed to get a copy. God, I watched that film with her so many times." He laughed again and hid his face in Malik's arm. He felt a tear drip onto his arm. "I never found them again," he whispered. His voice shook. "I-I- I went looking when I got out, but that was a few months later, an- and they were just- they weren't here. I get what they were trying to do - I know they were trying to keep me safe and just get me out of the country without drawing too much attention. Kids could disappear for a few days sometimes without people noticing, but a whole family?" He scoffed, but it caught in his throat. "But I couldn't find them. They didn't come to America. I thought they were dead. Then a few years later, I got a call from  _France_. They had me down on their will as their next of kin and whoever was in charge of it managed to find me. They died in a bombing." Malik's arms tightened around him. "I just- I thought I was done, you know? All the grief and crying; it had stopped a year after I got to America, but it all came back." He sniffed. "I couldn't handle it."

A few more drops landed on Malik's arm, and he rubbed Bakura's back. "It's okay," he whispered, pressing soft kisses to his forehead. "It's okay to be upset about that."

"I know." Bakura squeezed his eyes shut. "I know it is, but-" He cut himself off.

"But nothing." Malik gently rocked him back and forth. "It's not silly. Don't… don't belittle yourself like that."

"I should be over it."

"You were a  _child_." Malik pressed his lips to the crown of Bakura's head. "That's not something you can force yourself to get over." They shouldn't have left him. They shouldn't have made him try to leave on his own. They should have taken him with them. But Malik was coming from a place of privilege years later, not having to make a split second decision to try and save his child's life.

Bakura shook his head. "I know." He snorted. "Trust me, I know. I've been to enough counseling to drill that into my head." He leaned closer to Malik. "I just… I don't know."

Malik's arms tightened around him. "I killed my father," he whispered. Bakura stayed quiet. "I think. He was abusive - not to me. But to my brother. I didn't really notice until I came home sick one day and saw him beating Rishid. He found out he was gay - I think Rishid had a boyfriend or something. But I screamed at him to stop, and… I blacked out. Rishid said I hit him with the fire poker but…" Malik sighed and rested his forehead on top of Bakura's head. "All I remember is him telling me, 'He's not your brother, and according to Allah, he never will be'." He swallowed hard. "I heard it every time I prayed for years. We moved to America pretty soon after the funeral. For the first few months, I nearly threw up every time I had to pray."

Bakura was silent for a moment, and Malik's heart twisted. Was it too much? Fuck, he hadn't mentioned this before. Was Bakura scared of him? Malik would be - if he was Bakura. Why the fuck did he say that?

"God," Bakura muttered, "we're fucked up."

Malik snorted into his hair and pulled back a little. Bakura's cheeks were streaked with tears, as he imagined his own probably were. "No kidding."

"So- what're we at?" Bakura leaned his head back, pretending to think. "An autistic queer refugee with abandonment issues who cries at Titanic, a trans man with anger issues and trauma, a latina trans hijabi bodybuilder, and now a pan guy who saved his brother by killing his father and possibly dissociates. Sounds like we could start our own drama."

Listing it all out made Malik's stomach feel like a bottomless pit of sickness, but at the same time, he felt a little lighter. "We could call it  _Rainbow is the New Black_."

Bakura snapped his fingers. "Now that is genius. Fuck, why didn't I think of that? All that was in my head was  _Queer City_."

"That's weak." Malik shook his head. "Some of the lowest hanging fruit I've ever seen."

"Yeah, shut up." Bakura shouldered him. He picked up the controller again, then paused. "Thanks for telling me."

Malik shook his head. "I should've said it sooner. I should have said it before we started dating."

"Nah." Bakura shrugged. "This shit's hard to say. I get that."

"Still. I need to tell Mehi and Ryou."

"Maybe," Bakura agreed, "but you don't need to do it tonight. If you want, I can tell them?"

Malik shook his head. "No, I should do it. They told me their stuff." Or he experienced it first hand, but either way.

Bakura nodded, and then hesitated. "Are you seeing anyone about it?"

Malik grimaced. "Never had the chance." Isis had always been of the opinion that counseling was a waste of money - just pray instead, she would say. It's free, and does the job.

"I can give you mine's number if you want?" Bakura offered, scratching the back of his neck. "She's not too far away, and she's good. Really good."

Malik hesitated. It couldn't hurt, he supposed. "Okay," he mumbled. "I could try it."

"Hey, first session's free so it really wouldn't hurt." Bakura tried to grin, and Malik tried to return it.

"Thank you too." He reached over and gave Bakura's hand a squeeze. His stomach was slowly returning to its usual feeling of nothingness.

"Eh. I should be thanking you. You let me ramble." Bakura snorted and leaned into him again. "But I hope you don't expect me to go easy on you - even after all that." He pressed the  **replay**  button and Malik lunged for his controller.

"You fucking bitch - you know what? It doesn't matter." He grinned as he adjusted his grip and the screen faded to their battlefield. "I'm going to fucking wreck you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, hope you enjoyed. We only have two chapters left - well one chapter, and a kind of epilogue. I'll try and update on time on Saturday. Sorry for the delay. Please review!


	14. Chapter 14 | Every

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! So this is the second last chapter where everything is pretty much resolved, and then the next one is just an epilogue. I really hope you enjoy this!

Neither Ryou nor Mehi were scared of him after he had explained what happened. In fact, they hadn't even changed how they behaved around him at all. This fact was cemented when Mehi woke Malik up for fajr a week later, and refused to let him go back to bed afterwards. "Nope. Get your work out clothes - you're coming with me today."

"I don't have any," Malik protested, yawning. "Come on, Mehi - it's too early for this."

"Nope. I know you have sweatpants, and any t-shirt will do." Mehi grinned at him. "I've dragged Ryou and Bakura to these before. This is your turn."

Malik groaned and buried his face in his hands. Mellie padded around his ankles and mewed for food. "Okay. Fine." He dragged his hand through his hair. "Will you make coffee while I go shower? And feed Mellie?"

"Just slap on some deodorant and you'll be fine." Mehi made her way into the kitchen, followed by the cat. "We're going to the gym. Not out."

"The gym is going out," Malik huffed, "and I want to wash my hair." His hair got greasy ridiculously fast - possibly because he liked to wash it every day. Mehi shook her head but didn't object as he staggered to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and waited until the water was steaming to step in.

For a second, he hissed and jerked away as the heat hit the small of his back, but he forced himself back into the water to adjust to the temperature change. He tried to move fast, make his sluggish arms rub shampoo into his hair and wash it out faster, but it didn't work. Just as he was about to climb out, he turned the water to the coldest possible temperature.

He jolted away from the water and turned it off. He stepped out of the shower shivering and began to towel himself dry. At least it woke him up. He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out.

Mehi leaned out of the kitchen. "You just like black coffee, right?"

"Yeah," Malik yawned, stretching. The cold water had woken him up, but he was still tired. He crept into the bedroom and managed to grab his sweatpants, underwear, and a t-shirt without waking Bakura or Ryou. He dressed quickly, remembered his socks, and brought them out with him to the couch.

Mehi met him in the living room with his coffee and her protein shake. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Malik took it and drank a large sip before sitting down to pull his socks on. "I can't believe you do this every day."

"Eh." Mehi shrugged. "You get used to it." She drained a third of her protein shake.

Malik just shook his head and yanked on a pair of sneakers. "Okay, you ready?"

"Mhm." She finished her shake. "Yeah. You?" He glanced at his coffee. "Okay, I'll go stretch while you finish that. We can jog to the gym."

Malik let his head fall forward. He just wanted to go back to sleep. But he drank the end of his coffee as Mehi stretched and he joined her for the end of the warm up to her warm up.

"Now are you ready?" She looked at him as she stepped out of her last lunge. He grimaced but nodded. "Great. Come on." She grabbed her key and led Malik outside. She locked the door behind her, and they made their way downstairs. Once they were outside, Mehi began jogging. She didn't give much warning, so Malik had to run for a moment to catch up to her. He almost had to stay running to keep up with her, but when he brought it up, she immediately slowed to his pace.

It was a half hour run to the gym, and by the time they reached it, Malik's tongue pulsed in his mouth and he doubled over at the door, panting for breath. He had prided himself on being relatively fit, but this was already more than he was able for.

"Do you need water?" Mehi looked worried, and he nodded. "Okay, come on." The building was air conditioned, which was of some comfort to him. He sank into the chair, and Mehi grabbed a bottle of water for him from the vending machine.

"Hey, Mehi!" A voice called as he emptied half the bottle into his mouth. He looked up to see a woman with dyed pink-purple hair and wrinkles around her eyes walking over. "It's good to see you again."

"You too." Mehi grinned. "I ended up dragging Malik this time."

The woman looked down at him and laughed. "Are you doing okay there?"

Malik's skin prickled with heat. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"That's good. Wouldn't want you down for the count already." She grinned. "I'm Máire."

"Nice to meet you." He managed to give her a small smile, which she returned with a guffaw of laughter.

"Oh, Mehi's routine is going to destroy you, love." She shook her head and looked up at Mehi. "Will you be at Taekwondo again this week?"

"Yeah, I think so." Mehi nodded. "I have Wednesday evening free, so as long as Chad doesn't try to take my evening off again, I'll be there."

Máire's grin grew. "Great! I'll see you then." She patted Mehi's arm and wandered further into the gym.

"You actually work with someone called Chad?" Malik snorted.

Mehi shook his head. "Nah. He kept calling both of us Maria because apparently every Mexican girl is called Maria and he can't pronounce Máire."

"But you're- he knows you're Cuban, right?"

"I think he thinks Cuba is in Mexico." Mehi shook her head with a sigh. "So we just started calling him the most common white American names we could think of. I think his name's Jeremy or something similar but we never call him that."

Malik snickered, grin spreading across his face. The story almost helped to lift his exhaustion. "That's perfect."

"I know." Mehi winked at him. "Now come on. We have a work out to do."

The routine started out with lifting weights - biceps curls, armpit rows, dumbell presses, standing dumbell presses. Malik could only lift up to eight kg at any one time, and had to take frequent breaks. Mehi was able to lift twice that weight with half the effort Malik put in, but she never gave him trouble for it. In fact, she specifically told him to stop straining himself, and showed him a better way of lifting.

Finally, after half an hour, they moved onto the cycling machines. Why they needed to cycle after running for half an hour, Malik didn't know, but he didn't object to it. Mehi knew her routine and she knew a lot more than him. Plus, he actually enjoyed leg work.

Then there were pull ups and push ups, and Malik sat out for a break. Máire stayed and chatted with him while he was recovering. He joined Mehi again for the punching bag, hip raises, and planks.

When he was on the punching bag, Máire wandered back to them and gave him advice on where to keep his hands and elbows, and then worked him into agreeing to a small spar. He lost. Máire was a head shorter than him, wiry, fast on her feet, and would have flipped him over her head if it was a real fight. He sat out again and watched her and Mehi spar a few times, sweat filming on his forehead as he tried to regulate his water intake.

Finally, they stopped, and Malik joined Mehi for a cool off stretch. His scars itched from the sweat and stretching, but he didn't mind all that much. Mehi smiled at him. "Ready to jog back?"

Malik groaned. "Can we walk?"

Mehi laughed, and shook her head. "Of course. We might be a little late for breakfast."

"If we run, we'll be late anyway." He would collapse with much more. His body was aching. Well, not really collapse, but he didn't have the motivation to run.

"Okay, okay." Mehi dried sweat off her face with a towel and dumped it in the laundry bin. They made their way out of the gym, Malik still stretching his arms to get feeling back into them. "Thanks for doing that with me today."

He couldn't help but smile. "I hope you're not expecting me to do the same tomorrow. I'll be lucky if I can type in the morning."

Mehi shook her head. "Nah, you did really well today. Especially given you don't work out regularly. It's different to what you're used to. I know that. Bakura can't even keep up with it, and he works out every single day."

Malik relaxed and smiled. "Okay, good." He glanced at Mehi out of the corner of his eye. "But I did enjoy it. Somewhat, anyway. I liked doing it with you."

Mehi smiled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "You really are a cheesy nerd."

Malik smirked and elbowed her. "You like it - don't lie."

"Okay." Mehi looked forward again. "I liked doing it with you too."

A warm feeling spread across Malik's chest and stayed there for the rest of the walk home. Once he got through the door, he flopped onto the couch, into Bakura's lap.

Bakura snickered. "Were you treated to the workout á la Mehi?"

"Yes," Malik grumbled. "I'm sore."

"Come eat something," Ryou called to him. "It'll make you feel a little better."

Malik made a weak attempt to stand up, and then fell back into Bakura's lap. Bakura ran his fingers through Malik's hair. "Eat with us and I'll give you a massage after?" He offered.

"Where's my massage?" Mehi asked.

"If you get Malik to eat with us, I'll give you a massage," Ryou offered.

Mehi walked over to the couch and picked Malik up. He shrieked and clung to her neck, but laughed once he got his bearings. "Sorry, Mal. Ryou's massages are a thing of beauty."

"What about mine?" Bakura sat up properly.

Mehi glanced at him and smirked. "What about them?"

"Oh, fine then. See if you get another from me."

Mehi laughed and carried Malik to the kitchen, setting him down at the table. Malik sat down as Ryou passed him a plate of pancakes, porridge, and quorn bacon. "Thanks, honey."

"No problem." Ryou kissed the top of his head and sat beside him. "Bakura, get your ass in here or we'll eat your food."

"Okay, I'm coming." Bakura slouched in and reluctantly sat beside Mehi. "But my massages are just as good as yours."

"Sure they are." Ryou smiled at him. "Now eat your breakfast so we can give them massages and they can decide who's actually better." He leaned closer to Malik. "It's me."

Malik just grinned. "As long as I get a massage, I'm happy." Correction; as long as he was with them, he was happy.

* * *

Malik was almost shaking as they walked back into the mosque. Ryou and Bakura were waiting a little way down the street in a small coffeeshop – neither of them had wanted to intrude during the prayer so they had promised to be at the door when it ended.

He glanced around the room as he emerged from washing himself. "She's not here yet…"

Mehi squeezed his hand. "She will be. It's a bit away from your house."

Malik slowly nodded. Jonathon smiled at him from across the room and he struggled to return it. She had to be there. He needed her to be there – he needed to fix this.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Calm. Calm; it would be fine. She wouldn't miss prayer.

Mehi nudged him. "Hey. Look up."

Malik obliged, glancing towards the doors. Isis stood just in the doorway, khimar as firm as ever, eyes scanning the room. When she spotted Malik, his throat closed in.

"Breathe," Mehi murmured as she began walking towards them. "It'll be okay."

"Malik." Isis nodded at her brother. "It's good to see you again."

"You too." Malik's nails dug into his palms. "Um, did you get down okay?"

She just nodded again, folding her arms. "Yes. The traffic was bad, but I managed."

"Is Rishid here?"

"He had to work today."

Malik blinked a few times. "You learned to drive?"

"I was taking lessons while you were at college." She managed a small smile. "I'm not a fan of it, but I got my licence the other day. This was my first long trip."

"That's brilliant!" Malik grinned, relaxing a little. His nails eased out of his skin.

"Thank you." Her eyes flickered to Mehi and all of the tension returned. "We'll talk more after praying, agreed?"

"Alright." Malik slowly nodded and Isis wandered off to find a place. She liked to be exceptionally precise.

Mehi turned to him. "So that didn't go so badly."

"I guess…" Malik chewed his lip. "I was hoping that she'd actually talk to you before we started."

"She got in late," Mehi pointed out. "It'll be okay – we'll talk afterwards."

"I guess…" Malik repeated, running a hand through his hair.

Mehi reached up and gently took his hand. "Relax. It'll be okay."

Despite her reassurances, Malik couldn't focus much on the prayers. The light feeling that had developed over the past few times he had prayed was lessened – not quite to the extent as it had been before, but it was enough that he couldn't relax during it.

By the time it ended, he was shaking. Calm. Calm. Calm. Mehi carefully wrapped her arms around him. "Breathe. You have to calm down."

"I'm trying," Malik whispered.

"Use a grounding exercise, okay? Find five things you can see." Mehi's hand, the clock, the lines in the carpet, Jonathon, Isis' khimar. "Okay, now four you can touch." Mehi's arm, the floor, his leg, his bracelet. "Three you can hear." His breath, Mehi's voice, and the footsteps of everyone moving to the door. "Two you can smell." Sweat, Mehi's perfume. "And one you can taste." The remnants of Ryou's coffee from when he accidentally drank from the wrong cup. "Better?"

"I-" His breath wasn't catching anymore, and the shaking had subsided. "Yeah. I'm okay."

"Good." Mehi smiled at him. "Let's go down and talk to her."

Malik slowly nodded and followed her out of the room. They caught up to Isis at the shoe rack, zipping up her boots. She raised an eyebrow. "Is everything okay?"

Malik nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine." He glanced at the door. "The others are outside."

They pulled on their shoes and slipped out into the street. Sure enough, Ryou and Bakura were waiting by the door, each holding a cup of coffee.

"Did you get us something?" Mehi asked.

Bakura snorted. "No, get it yourself." He handed her the cup.

She smiled. "Thanks."

Ryou passed Malik his own cup. Malik took it with a small grin and turned to Isis. "Isis, this is Ryou, Bakura, and you know Mehi. Guys, this is my sister Isis."

"It's nice to meet you." She glanced over them. "So you're Malik's… partners?"

"That's us." Ryou nodded. "He's been staying with us for the past while."

"Yes he told me that over the phone." Her eyes flickered to her brother. "What do you do for a living?"

"Mehi works with the kids at the gym, and Bakura's a professional dancer," Ryou replied. "I'm still studying theatre and language in university."

"I see. I'm studying law myself." Isis nodded. "So Mehi's the only girl?"

That made Malik start a little. He had been expecting something- well, something transphobic. Ryou's smile merely grew and he nodded. "Yeah, she is."

"I see," Isis repeated. She looked at Malik. "Can we talk privately for a moment?"

Here it comes. Malik swallowed and nodded. He gave his partners a shaky smile as he followed his sister a little way up the path.

But when she turned to him, she was still smiling. "They seem nice."

Malik let out a slow breath. "They are," he promised her. "Really nice."

"You're a lot happier here." She glanced around. "Even if it's not the best area."

"It's still relatively good," Malik assured her. "Nothing bad happens." The bruising around his nose had faded. "We got a cat too. Her name's Melody."

"That sounds nice, and it's good that you're safe." She looked back at him. Her arms were still folded, but she was toying with the sleeve of her shirt. "I don't suppose you want to come back home?"

Malik hesitated. "I do," he admitted quietly. "More than anything. But… I'm not ready yet." He shook his head. "I don't want to go back to the old mosque, and I'm pretty sure if Atem saw me, he'd punch me."

"If he did, I'd call the police."

That was actually somewhat reassuring. "But I'm also not ready to go back home with you," Malik told her. "What you did… really hurt me. You rejected part of who I am."

"I know." Isis looked down. "And I know that it will probably take you a long time to forgive me. But I'm sorry. And I'm trying to come to terms with… everything."

Malik chewed his lip and took a sip of his coffee. "What made you change your mind?"

"Rishid." Isis looked up at him, grey eyes hard. "He told me what our father did to him, and why."

He's not your brother, and according to Allah, he never will be.

"And…?"

"And…" Isis sighed. "And I don't condone violence in the name of religion. You know this. Also… you did make some good points. Allah created everyone in His idea of perfection, and who are we to question His idea of perfection? Even if I'm… struggling to come to terms with neither of you being straight, I'll get there. It just may take some time." She smiled through her pursed lips. "Just as I know it will take time for you to forgive me."

"Thank you." Malik sighed. "If you want, I know some people at the mosque that have LGBT relatives, and there are some things online that might help. I could email you their contact details and some websites."

"That would be nice," Isis agreed. "Thank you."

Malik hesitated, grip tightening on the cup. "Can I hug you?"

Isis chuckled and shook her head, wrapping her arms around Malik. "Of course you can."

The tension finally fully eased from Malik's shoulders as he returned the hug. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." She kissed his temple, even though she had to stand on her toes to do so. "I don't suppose you'd like to go to dinner tonight?"

Malik glanced back at his partners. "I- Bakura has a show tonight and we always go-"

"Don't worry." Isis combed her fingers through his hair. "Go have fun. Rishid and I will catch up with you again soon." She reluctantly released him. "I should go – dinner won't cook itself."

"You could come," Malik offered. "We always have a spare ticket."

"Would you want me there?" Isis raised an eyebrow, but Malik nodded.

"I would."

She smiled at him. "Thank you." She glanced back at his partners. "I'll be there. I should head back and cook first. I'll see you tonight, alright?"

Malik nodded, returning the smile. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me." Isis shook her head. "Not when I should be the one thanking you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was okay! Please review and I'll see you next time for the final chapter!


	15. Chapter 15 | Day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. So this is it! The end of I See Heaven Inside You! I really hope that you enjoyed the story, and if you're reading this late and you've seen things you think I should change, please don't hesitate to contact me. My next Big Thing(TM) will be a project I'm working on getting out for the start of November. I'm going to try to actually write out the full stories before I post anything now, mainly because of how stress-free posting this was. Anyway, enjoy.

**CW:**  Mentions of surgery, mention of tactics people use to try to get LGBT+ people to believe they're sinful.

* * *

 

Malik hummed softly under his breath as he logged into his tumblr account. Ryou draped his arms around Malik's chest. He was still recovering from bottom surgery, so they had just decided to make their trip to Thailand slightly longer to make sure he was okay when they got back - he didn't have the insurance or the money to get it done in America. Even with the flights and accommodation, it was cheaper in Thailand. Probably due to the risk if anything went wrong, but nothing did. "You should be finishing your article."

"I'm nearly done, and I need a break." Malik turned his head and kissed Ryou's arm. "Go get your coffee, honey. It's on the counter."

"Thanks." Ryou pulled away and trudged over to the counter. "Are Bakura and Mehi up?"

Malik nodded. "Yeah, they both went down to the gym. Bakura's insisting that he can do Mehi's workout without dying."

Ryou hummed as he took a sip. "Fuck that's good. And he probably can."

"Yeah, but he hasn't managed it so far." Malik opened his messages. His account had gotten bigger and he usually had one or two asks every morning. "Are Mehi's parents still having us over for dinner when we get back?"

"Yeah, they're going to pick us up from the airport. Apparently Mellie threw up in Hernan's shoe though, so we should get them an apology present." Malik hummed in agreement. Mellie was a nuisance. Ryou drained the end of his coffee and moved back to the kitchen table. "Anything new?"

"One or two." Malik nodded, clicking into the one that caught his eye.

**Hi! Sorry to bother you; I know you probably get asked this a lot, but do you ever struggle with your iman because of your sexuality? – Anon.**

Malik chewed his lip and Ryou leaned over the glass top. "You've got your thinking face on. Something good?"

"Just looking for some advice, I think," Malik replied, pulling off his reading glasses and rubbing his eyes.

Ryou narrowed his own eyes. "How long have you been on your computer?"

"Since fajr," Malik admitted with a yawn. "Isis rang me. Rishid graduated."

Ryou grabbed his arm, eyes lighting up. "That's fantastic!"

Malik smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I know. She wants us all to go out and celebrate with them and Kevin when we get back - I'm pretty sure Kevin's going to propose to him."

"Holy shit." Ryou's grin melted to a grimace and he sank back into his seat. "Sorry."

Malik frowned. "Wait, why?" His mind immediately went to pain and what could have gone wrong with his surgery.

The other shrugged, toying with his sleeve. "I'm the reason you're not out celebrating with him tonight."

Malik relaxed. "Hey, look at me." He shifted his chair a little closer, taking Ryou's hand. "I want to be here. We all do. You're not a burden on us."

"Yeah, I guess." Ryou sighed. "Still."

"Still nothing," Malik insisted. "You did the research, and it's your body. This is what you needed to do and we support you in that. You know that."

"I know." He gave Malik a small smile. "Thanks."

"No problem." Malik leaned in and kissed his cheek as the door swung open.

Ryou glanced up. "Did you beat her?"

"No," Bakura groaned, limping in. "She destroyed me." He tripped on the rug and flopped onto the couch with another groan.

Mehi locked the door behind them, sweaty but grinning. "You shouldn't have made a bet that you couldn't win." She pulled off her shayla and pushed strands of hair out of her eyes.

Malik rolled his eyes. "I don't think he knows how to make bets that he can win."

"Oh fuck you," Bakura huffed.

"Gladly."

Bakura peeled himself off the couch. "Anyone want to go swimming? I need a swim after that." He winced. "Sorry. Never mind." Ryou wasn't meant to swim for a few months.

"No it's fine," Ryou assured him. "Go change, I'll grab my book."

"Put on sun cream!" Malik called as Ryou stood up and made his way back towards the bedroom.

Mehi raised an eyebrow. "Are you not coming with us?"

"I am," Malik assured her, slipping his glasses back on. "Just give me a minute or two to answer this."

He turned back to his laptop as his partners wandered into the bedroom.

**Hi, Anon. I want to start this off by pointing out that I used to struggle a lot with it, but this has changed in the last few years. In fact, the trials of the jihad I went through ended up strengthening my iman.**

**First of all, Allah created everyone in His idea of perfection. This is what I always say to people when they ask me this. Iblis didn't create humanity – Allah did. And yes, he can tempt us, but he can't create such large parts of who we are. He is a destroyer, not a creator like Allah.**

**Secondly, humans are flawed individuals, and even the best of us make mistakes and are biased at times. That had to include Muhammad-pbuh. No religious text can be taken to be the absolute word of any god as it was written by humans, and we are all tempted by our own likes and dislikes at times. Allah is merciful and would never hate someone for something like who they love.**

**Finally, I don't believe we can take everything in the Qur'an to have a literal meaning. Muhammad-pbuh often used metaphors to get across what he was saying, and it would be foolish to imagine him changing his methods purely for the sake of the written word.**

**So no, I don't struggle with my iman anymore. Not since I've made peace with my family and myself. I don't believe Allah hates me for my amazing girlfriend and boyfriends. And I refuse to believe He could hate such beautiful souls. I refuse to believe he could hate any of His creations.**

Malik tapped his lip. It was missing something.

"Hey, asshole!" Bakura called. Malik looked up to see him already wearing trunks and a pair of goggles, his hair up in a ponytail. "You coming or not?"

"Is everyone ready?"

"Yup." Mehi came out, adjusting her swim cap. Ryou pulled up the zip on her bodysuit, clutching his book by his side. "We're just waiting on you."

"I'll be ready in a moment." Malik turned back to his computer.

 **I don't believe I'll be going to hell for loving who I do. I don't believe Allah would punish His creations like that. I might not see heaven when I die, but it sure won't be because of who I'm in a relationship with.** A small smile grew across his face. **And besides, what does it matter when I get to see heaven inside of them every day?**

"Hurry up," Bakura groaned. "I need something to distract me from this pain."

 **Even if they are a bunch of assholes at times.**  Malik paused and then erased the last line before posting his response. "Okay, okay, I'm coming." He closed his laptop and stood up, kissing Bakura's cheek. "Let me just get my trunks."

Mehi cheered. "You're actually getting in the water! I'm proud of you!"

"Of course I am." Malik winked and slipped into the bedroom, a warm feeling in his chest. He changed as fast as he could and grabbed his own book. Realistically, he was going to spend more time reading with Ryou than swimming.

Bakura rolled his eyes when he saw the book but didn't comment. "Okay, are we ready to go?"

"Yeah, yeah." Malik pushed open the back door, leading out to the path. The entire hotel was connected by the paved or wooden paths, and all of them eventually led to either the pools or the gym. It turned out Mehi's parents had a lot of contacts that owed them favours. "Let's go."

Ryou slipped took his hand and squeezed as they left the room, and the heat washed over Malik.

Yeah. This was the heaven he'd been waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys enjoyed. Please leave a review, and as I said, feel free to message me at any time! I'll see you next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this is okay so far! Please comment and let me know if you like it. See y'all next week.


End file.
